


smack!

by conclusions (introductions)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: College, Comic Book Violence, Friends to Lovers, Humor, I take nothing seriously, Lawless Shenanigans, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Superheroes, This Is STUPID, Vigilantism, a lot of swearing, also:, mark and hyuck: worst vigilantes ever, questionable life choices, teamwork makes the dream work everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 107,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductions/pseuds/conclusions
Summary: Listen. The whole vigilante-thing wasn’t Donghyuck’s idea, it was Mark’s. Donghyuck only agreed because he’s absolutely in love with him, and maybe because he was a little bored with smashing windows and jumping off of rooftops.Saving their city also wasn’t his idea, but Donghyuck’s learning that when it comes to Mark, very little is actually in his control.(or: Mark Lee dies twice, and nine months later, he and Donghyuck unfortunately find the fate of the city resting on their shoulders).





	1. unfortunate friendships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this! is a disaster. irreverent. i don't know what i'm doing. only that i'm weak for superhero aus and also markhyuck so HERE we are. please bear with me. i am having way too much fun with this. 
> 
> i do intend to update this and finish it (hopefully not 17 chapters) but progress may go and start depending on how '00 fic fest is going for me! 
> 
> anyway, please enjoy! this is all thanks to [roosa](https://twitter.com/pikkuhyuck) for her love, support, and sharp eye bc i made many a spelling error. this first chapter is for you.

“My first kiss wasn’t actually that bad,” Donghyuck says, trying to recall the face of his tenth grade crush. “His name was Brian. Or Brady?” 

“Hyuck,” Mark says, sounding strained. 

Donghyuck thinks harder. All he can really remember is how Brian-Brady made fun of his name. Like, you put high schoolers and the word _ dong _together and all of a sudden everyone’s snickering. 

“_Hyuck,_” Mark says again, and there’s a loud crash somewhere off to the right that snaps Donghyuck out of his bitter reminiscing and back onto the task at hand: remembering the name. 

“Bailey?” Donghyuck tries, seeing if it’ll trigger a memory. “B…Boney? Billy? Beef?” 

“_HYUCK,_” Mark shouts, frantically grabbing Donghyuck by the wrist and pulling him aside. 

“Okay, I guess Beef isn’t really something you’d name a kid,” Donghyuck agrees. “Fuck, this is going to bother me until the end of time. Why’d you bring it up?” 

“I didn’t,” Mark says, sounding like he’s about to cry. “_You _brought it up because one of this lady’s lackeys looked like this dude you kissed.” 

“Brandon Lovelace,” Donghyuck says at last, snapping his fingers and feeling like a genius. “Oh my god. That was his name.” 

“Come out!” A voice trills excitedly, and Donghyuck remembers the _ actual _task they were supposed to do. 

“Oh, right,” he says, feeling like a bit of an idiot, “the ballerina lady. Did we get all the people she was with?” 

“Yes, but the _ ballerina lady _shot me,” Mark says, and reaches under his hoodie with a grimace. His hand comes out covered in blood, and there’s a tiny bit of shrapnel pinched between his fingers. 

“Oh, it’s only a little,” Donghyuck says, trying to be reassuring. “You have speed-healing.” 

“Still hurts,” Mark mutters. “The number of bullets I’ve taken for you, _ literally—” _

“Yeah, you’re fantastic, the best friend ever, love you tons,” Donghyuck rattles off, ignoring the way his heart does a little spin at the _ love you tons _part. He means it, actually means it, no matter how sarcastic he sounds. Not that he’d say that, because it would most likely ruin their friendship, even though he’d probably get to kiss Mark before they’d awkwardly laugh about it and then never speak again. 

Donghyuck’s heart stops spinning at that thought, and his stomach churns unhappily. 

_ No time for what-ifs! _He scolds himself, and refocuses. “Okay. What’s the plan?” 

Mark looks at Donghyuck blankly. “The plan?” 

“I thought you had a plan,” Donghyuck says, wracking his brain. They’d kicked the asses of some gunmen. Then _ they’d _had their asses kicked by Ballerina Lady. Then Mark had been shot, Donghyuck had punched her in the face, and then they’d run away from her. And now they’re— 

“Hiding’s not gonna do anything,” Donghyuck continues, “so we need a plan.” He looks expectantly at Mark. “You’re up.” 

“Why do _ I _have to come up with a plan?” Mark asks, eyebrows raising. “Does it look like I have any idea on how to defeat a crazy dancing lady with double handguns?” 

“Boys!” Ballerina Lady calls, sounding far too excited for someone that wants to kill them. “Running isn’t very manly, is it?” 

“That’s a very toxic view on masculinity!” Mark shouts back, annoyed, only realizing what he’s done when Ballerina Lady bursts into the room that they’re hidden in, grinning widely. 

“There you are,” she says, delighted, and raises her guns. 

“RUN!” Donghyuck screams, grabbing Mark by the hand and pulling him towards the back of the room. The gun goes off. Mark stumbles but keeps going, following Donghyuck through the door.

They sprint down the hall, their footsteps echoing loudly through the abandoned warehouse. The floor that they’re on overlooks the lobby, which is destroyed from the earlier fight. 

“I can’t believe your political discourse got us found!” Donghyuck shouts back at Mark. Behind them, he can hear Ballerina Lady giving chase. “We also need a better name for her than Ballerina Lady!” Donghyuck adds, and swerves aggressively as yet another shot rings out. 

“What we need is a plan!” Mark replies, sounding panicked. “She’s gaining!” 

Donghyuck’s mind races. He’s terrible at math and also at being smart under pressure, but he also can’t let Mark die because hauling his body back on the train is always…awkward, to say the least. Nobody really quite believes him when he says Mark’s just asleep and definitely not in the process of reviving himself. 

Ballerina Lady is catching up, and Donghyuck catches sight of the ceiling, hung with chains and parts of old machinery. And suddenly he’s got it—an incredibly brilliant, guaranteed-to-hurt plan. 

“Mark, how’s that super-healing of yours?” Donghyuck asks.

“Uh oh,” Mark says, out-of-breath. “What do you have planned?” 

Donghyuck nods at the chains, and then points at the window on the far side. “You’ll be okay.” 

Mark gives him a startled look. “What the hell, Donghyuck.” 

“I’ve got super-strength, and you can’t die,” Donghyuck says, holding out a hand. Ballerina Lady bursts through the door behind them, but Donghyuck doesn’t hear her over the sound of his heart, thundering in his ears. He meets Mark’s eyes. “You trust me?” 

“I trust you,” Mark says, and for a moment, everything feels very serious and emotional. 

Then Mark’s phone starts to ring, and fittingly, his ringtone is _Rock and Roll _by Led Zeppelin. 

Donghyuck grabs Mark around the waist, has a fleeting thought about kissing him, and then jumps over the railing. 

Ballerina Lady’s hand grazes Donghyuck’s ankle, trying to grab him, but Donghyuck is too strong, too fast, and far too stupid to be stopped. He grabs the chain, nearly dislocating his shoulder, and he and Mark go swinging over the destroyed lobby. 

Behind them, Ballerina Lady loses balance and topples over the side of the railing. She just barely manages to break her fall, stumbling as she hits the ground. 

“Okay, let go!” Donghyuck shouts, and Mark doesn’t have any time to object before Donghyuck is tossing him through the window. Mark lets out a strangled shout, glass shattering noisily around him, before falls out of view. Donghyuck briefly hopes Mark doesn’t rip his pants again. The last time Mark went through a window, he shredded his favorite pair of jeans.

Donghyuck lets go of the chain and lands in front of Ballerina Lady, who looks dazed. She struggles to focus on Donghyuck, her hands braced on her knees. 

It’s over a decade of incredibly strict training with Mya, who’d raised him after his parents died (he was six, so he can’t be sad since he doesn’t really remember them) that has him attacking immediately, moving in on her weakness—her right leg, which had taken the brunt of the fall. The fist Donghyuck drives into her sternum shakes her out of it somewhat, but not enough to _ really _fight back. Without her guns, hand-to-hand, Donghyuck is quick to out-maneuver her. 

The fight doesn’t last long this time. She is injured, and Donghyuck is ruthless. A well-placed kick, and she crumples to the pavement, breathing shallow. 

As soon as Donghyuck’s sure she’s out, he makes a break for the door, shouting Mark’s name. In the distance, he can hear police sirens. Which means that Mark’s alive, and he’s called the police. 

“Oh my god,” Mark groans when Donghyuck comes up to him. “I’ve never been in so much pain in my life.” 

“You’re covered in blood,” Donghyuck points out, because he is. It’s in his clothes, on the ground, and in his hair. Looks like they’re not taking the subway. The fruit punch/red paint/cosplay excuse won’t work with this much blood. 

“Yeah, _ duh." _Mark shifts in the pile of glass and curses under his breath. “I broke most of the bones in my body. Including my neck.” 

“Well, as long as your legs aren’t broken,” Donghyuck says, “because the police are coming. Did you call them?” 

Mark frowns. “No?” 

A moment of silence, and then together they groan, “Taeil.” 

“Fucking _ shit,_” Donghyuck says. “That guy can teleport. Mark, get up _ get up _we have to go now.” 

“My legs are _ broken_,” Mark reminds him. “It’ll be five more minutes before I can walk.” 

“We don’t have five minutes! We have five seconds!” 

The sirens are getting louder. Donghyuck can hear the screech of tires on pavement. “Mark,” Donghyuck stresses, feeling more and more anxious as the moments tick by. He doesn’t want to fight the cops, but he will, if only to get Mark to safety. 

Mark pushes himself up, wincing as his palms are shredded by the glass. “I—I can’t,” he says, gritting his teeth. “My—my femur is _ pulverized.” _

“That’s in your arm!” Donghyuck replies, rocking onto his toes and trying to gauge how close the police are. He can’t get caught. He’s avoided them since he and Mark started this whole vigilante bullshit—or, more accurately, since Mark talked him into turning his penchant for destruction and general carelessness for life and mortality into something that could possibly _ help _ people. Before Mark, it was just Donghyuck, all superhuman speed and strength, smashing through billboard ads on buildings and committing mild acts of arson in the red light district until Mark was resurrected from the dead incorrectly. Now he’s chasing down low-tier villains and making _ plans. _

Love makes people say yes to stupid ideas, Donghyuck supposes. Like signing up for soccer club, studying for finals and becoming a vigilante duo. 

“You failed the anatomy unit in high school Bio,” Mark says, clutching his leg. “I remember because you whined about it for a month.” 

“Great,” Donghyuck says, not really listening. “We’re still going to get arrested, pulverized femur or not. And then they’re gonna find out about your whole not-dying thing, and I’m never going to see you again.” 

Mark blinks at him, clearly not expecting the sudden burst of emotion in Donghyuck’s voice. “Hyuck—” 

“Shut up,” Donghyuck says, embarrassed and trying to hide it. “I’m carrying you out of here.” 

Mark opens his mouth, but the windows start to reflect red and blue, which means it’s time to go. 

Donghyuck scoops Mark up, immediately getting blood all over him. Mark’s hands burn through the shirt on Donghyuck’s back—he runs hotter than normal ever since the whole botched resurrection. 

He tries his very best not to focus on it as he breaks into a jog, just like he tries not to think about how close their faces are, and the brush of Mark’s hair against his cheek. 

He fails miserably. It’s fine. He’s used to it by now, and has resigned himself to the fact that he’s probably going to be in love with Mark Lee until he dies. Which, given Mark’s current state, is impossible. Like, literally. It’s _ literally impossible _ for Mark to die_. _

“This fucking sucks,” Mark mutters, chin digging into Donghyuck’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you threw me through a window.” 

“Necessary,” Donghyuck reminds him. “We took out Ballerina Lady.” 

“We should call her Silver Slipper,” Mark says. “Because her shoes are silver.” 

“Clever,” Donghyuck replies, and means it. He never would’ve been able to think of anything that good. Mark’s always been pretty good at names, though he refuses to come up with any for him and Donghyuck. 

“Good, right?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck agrees. “Now shut up and try not to look suspicious.” 

"I’m covered in blood.” 

“Shh. You’re fine.” 

Mark makes a discontented noise, but doesn’t argue. Together, they slip unseen through alleys, letting the sound of the sirens fade into the distance. 

* * *

By the time the police get there, all that’s left is an unconscious woman in silver ballet slippers and a broken window. There’s no blood and no weapons. An outsider would think the woman knocked her own self out. 

“This can’t keep happening,” Officer Benjamin Harper tells Captain Jenny Na. “Isn’t vigilantism illegal? Shouldn’t we be looking for the people that are doing this?” 

Captain Na purses her lips. “I’m reluctant. But only because they’ve only helped us thus far.” 

“I think it’s great,” Officer Johnny Seo says, handcuffing the woman. She’s just beginning to wake up, a dazed look on her face. “We’ve had problems with her before, right? This is an actual _ criminal _they took down for us.” 

“Don’t defend them,” Harper says, scowling. “They’re breaking the law.” 

“You’re just pissed because they’re doing your job better than you are,” Johnny replies mildly. Harper opens his mouth to retort, but a voice behind them chimes in, “they’re good kids. Let them help.” 

All three cops turn to see Taeil Moon, looking unassuming and very normal, wearing a denim jacket and a pleasant smile. “I’d tell you if they were a threat.” 

Harper shuts his mouth. Johnny grins. 

“Good evening, Mr. Moon,” Captain Na greets crisply. “I hope you’re doing well?” 

“I’m good,” Taeil says. “Just wanted to come down and see what you’ve got.” 

Harper purses his lips. “It’s just a low-powered criminal.” 

“I’ve got reason to believe she’s connected to Arsenic’s gang,” Taeil says. “If there’s anything in on her that looks like it might be related, let me know.” He makes eye contact with Johnny over Harper’s shoulder. “Nice to see you again, Officer Seo.” 

Johnny’s grin widens. “You too.” 

“Keep in touch,” Captain Na says, and Taeil nods. The air shimmers, the cops blink, and Taeil is gone. 

“I hate that guy,” Harper mutters. “Him _ and _his stupid superpowers.” 

“I think he’s great,” Johnny rebukes. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Captain Na interrupts suddenly. “Harper, get everyone in position.” 

“Captain?” Harper asks, confused. 

“The vigilantes didn’t get everyone,” Captain Na says grimly. “We’re not alone.” 

* * *

“We should get high,” Jaemin says over the sound of Donghyuck pummeling Mark. “And _ then _you guys should fight.” 

Mark hits the floor with a hard-sounding _ thud. _There’s blood dried all around his nose and on his shirt. It’s all old, since anything Donghyuck does to him heals in seconds, but it still makes him feel a little bad. 

Donghyuck offers Mark a hand up. He takes it, groaning. “You broke my ribs again.” 

“We can stop, if you want,” Donghyuck says. He hangs on to Mark’s hand like he’s looking for wounds, but it’s mostly because he’s extraordinarily touch-starved and also in love with his best friend. 

“No,” Mark says immediately. “I want to be useful.” 

“You have a long way to go before you’re gonna be useful,” Jaemin remarks dryly. “Donghyuck’s beat your ass at least nine times since I’ve been standing here.” 

“He’s literally trained to hurt people,” Jeno pipes up without taking his eyes off the TV. “Like, since he was ten.” 

Mark’s eyes slide over to Donghyuck, questioning, who’s deciding if he should be offended. The whole “trained killing machine” dialogue gets a little hurtful, but it’s Jeno, and also—

“True,” Donghyuck says, but still shoots Mark a silent _ thank-you. _“But that doesn’t make it any easier to kick ass on my own.” He slings an arm around Mark’s shoulder. “That’s why I’ve taken an apprentice.” 

“Good luck not killing him,” Jaemin says, and starts to wander away, probably looking for his dab pen or something. “If he dies again, I'm putting him in the backyard.”

Mark and Donghyuck exchange a glance. 

“Please don't kill me,” Mark says. “I don't want to be resurrected in the backyard.”

“I'll try,” Donghyuck replies, and Mark laughs, loud and bright. _ I love you I love you I love you, _Donghyuck thinks, watching him. It’s like getting a head rush, listening to Mark laugh and being overwhelmed by disgusting affection. 

There’s the sound of glass breaking, and distantly, Jaemin shouts, “fuck!” 

“We should probably go check on him,” Mark says, looking concerned. “Jeno, come on.” 

“I’m in the middle of a game,” Jeno says. He, unlike Mark, does not look bothered in the slightest. “No thanks. He’s probably fine, anyway.” 

Donghyuck and Mark exchange a look, then Donghyuck darts forward and snatches the controller right out of Jeno’s hands. 

“Hey, not nice,” Jeno says, making a grab for it. It’s half-hearted, though, because in the end Jeno is mild-mannered and Donghyuck is at least twice as fast as the average person. “I was playing that. It’s the only thing I love in this world.” 

“Not true,” Donghyuck says, offering Jeno a hand up off the couch. “You love school.” 

“No I don’t,” Jeno rebukes. “I’m _ good _at it. But it’s really really hard.” 

“You’re pre-med,” Mark points out. “I feel like you sorta set yourself up for that.” 

“Fair enough,” Jeno concedes. 

There’s another shattering noise, and Jaemin starts shouting more. 

“Okay, it genuinely sounds like he’s in trouble,” Mark says, worrying at his lip. Donghyuck likes when he does that. It’s a subconscious tick, and normally he can catch himself doing it. But every now and then, it slips past him, and Donghyuck can see how much he genuinely _ cares, _despite how he tries to hide it or cover it up. 

“HYUCK!” Jaemin hollers, sounding panicked, and Donghyuck breaks into a jog, closely followed by his friends. 

In the kitchen, Jaemin is standing across the island counter from a boy, a bottle of olive oil in his hand, ready to throw. 

“He just—he just _ broke _in here!” Jaemin accuses, pointing at the boy. “My mom’s a cop, you know! And my best friend can smash through walls and dodge bullets!” 

The boy raises his hands, looking a little irritated. “I _ know. _I’m not trying to kill any of you. I told you I’m here to help.” 

“And how can I believe you?” Jaemin asks, scowling. “You could have powers you’re waiting to whip out and take me out with so you can rob me, cast me out onto the streets, and then take my place as a body double until my mom forgets that you’re not her real son.” He raises the olive oil threateningly, like it’ll help emphasize his point. Donghyuck resists the urge to make fun of him. 

“That’s…really specific and kind of concerning,” Mark says, frowning. “Jaemin, are you—” 

“He’s fine,” Donghyuck interrupt. “Everyone’s afraid of something. Like, I’m afraid of forgetting my katana training and then having to use one in a final battle to save your life and accidentally cutting my hand off.” 

“Also incredibly specific,” Jeno says, “and only reinforcing Mark’s point. Are you sure you guys are okay?” 

“Maybe you should go talk to someone,” the boy offers. “I got a therapist last year to help with my anxiety, and she’s helped a lot.” 

“Therapy’s a scam,” Donghyuck says, crossing his arms. “I’m not going to give money to someone who’s only going to tell me what I already know.” 

“And that is?” Jeno asks, eyebrows raised. 

“That I’m fine,” Donghyuck says pointedly. 

“Says the guy who spent two years learning a violent, nearly-extinct form of martial arts from monks in sub-zero weather,” Mark mutters. 

The boy blinks. “Monks? Sub-zero weather?” 

“It’s a long story,” Donghyuck says, and the boy’s eyebrows raise. It’s not really an experience he’d like to remember. He’d been forced to shave his head, nearly lost a finger to frostbite, and even worse, Mya hadn’t let him get a cool tattoo to commemorate it. 

“_Why are you so calm?” _Jaemin shouts, voice shrill. He waves the bottle of oil at Donghyuck, who easily catches it and tugs it free of Jaemin’s hand. 

“He’s not here to hurt us,” Jeno says soothingly. “Mark, back me up.” 

“He hasn’t moved since we’ve been here,” Mark jumps in, “and if he’d wanted to rob someone, he wouldn’t have picked an extremely well-monitored house belonging to the city’s best police captain.” 

When Jaemin hesitates, Mark says, “Just trust me. It’s a gut feeling.”

“Plus, he’s really cute,” Donghyuck adds, a crucial point Mark missed. 

Jaemin squints at the boy. “I guess he _ is _pretty cute, isn’t he?” 

“Oh my _ god,_” Jeno sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “There’s no winning with you, Jaemin. You’re an idiot.” 

“Fine,” Jaemin says at last, ignoring Jeno. “I won’t call my mom or set Hyuck on you.” 

“I’m not a dog,” Hyuck says, a little stung. “You can’t _ set _me on anyone. I murder whoever I want.” 

“You don’t murder anyone,” Mark reminds him, and they’re back to their age-old argument. The only way Mark had convinced Donghyuck to curb his reckless bloodlust and general disregard for the human life (he hadn’t caved when Donghyuck had explained that they were _ awful _ people, the absolute fucking _ worst, _ and not to mention _ ugly as hell__)_ was by doing that soft-eyed expression of his. He also told Donghyuck that going to college and living life free was easier when the police weren’t trying to hunt him down for endless cases of first-degree murder (even if it was _ deserved _first-degree murder, or self-defense). 

“I’m here because someone told me,” the boy says, cautiously edging towards them and slowly reaching for the duffel bag strapped to his back. “You guys weren’t technically supposed to see me drop this off, but I guess it’s fine.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Mark says, holding out a hand, “what’s in the backpack? Who sent you?” 

“What’s your name, anyway?” Jaemin asks, eyes still narrowed. 

“Jisung Park,” the boy says. “And I don’t know if I can tell you, actually. I was just told you give you this stuff.” 

He unzips the bag and starts unpacking stuff. At first, it’s just clothing, black and shimmery, and then it’s a few strange-looking pieces of what Donghyuck thinks is cardboard, and then, oddly enough, some black face masks. 

Jisung pushes it all across the counter towards them, and throws a folded-up sheet of notebook paper on top of it. “That’s for you two.” He nods at Mark and Donghyuck. 

Mark grabs the piece of paper and opens his mouth, prepared to read aloud. 

“Wait!” Jisung says quickly. “It contains…sensitive information.” 

“If you mean the whole vigilante thing,” Jeno pipes up, “we know about that. It’s fine.” 

Jisung’s eyes widen. “They know?” 

“Why do you think they’re not bleeding out of their heads?” Jaemin says proudly. “Jeno’s pre-med, and my house is about as safe as it gets.” 

“They’re our best friends,” Mark says. 

“Plus Renjun,” Donghyuck adds, because even if he’s not here (failing OChem sucks, but unlike Renjun, Donghyuck didn't try to make it up over the weekends. He just switched his major to something easier) he’s still a very important of their strange, patchwork group. 

“What if one of them sells you out?” Jisung asks. 

“Sounds like you lived a pretty distrustful life,” Donghyuck comments, not bothering to sound polite. 

“A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” Jaemin asks, because he has to ruin everything. 

Donghyuck ignores him, focusing in on Jisung. “None of them are going to sell us out, because they’re our friends.” 

He can feel Mark’s eyes on him, and his surprise at the sudden intensity in Donghyuck’s voice.

“Anyway, we’re just two kids,” Mark steps in, like he can sense Donghyuck getting upset. “It’s not like we’re doing anything too big or important.” 

“Apparently you are,” Jisung says, nodding at the stuff on the counter. “Enough that someone wants to protect you.” 

Mark frowns, confused, and finally opens the note. 

“’Dear Mark and Hyuck,’” he reads aloud, “’if you’re reading this, then my gift has reached you safely, and nobody but you and Jisung know about it. In the bag, you’ll find some protective gear—I’ve noticed a lot of blood. Please wear it. It’ll make me feel better.’” Mark pauses and looks up. “Someone in the police sent us this?” 

Jisung shrugs. “I have no idea. I’m just the messenger. They hired me because I can get anywhere without being seen or caught.” 

“Jaemin almost killed you with a bottle of olive oil,” Donghyuck reminds him, because Jisung looks a bit too arrogant. 

“So you’re a thief,” Jaemin accuses. “See, Mark, I _ knew _it. Call the cops.” 

“I’m not a _ thief,_” Jisung fires back, crossing his arms. “I’m a _ courier. _I don’t take anything that I’m not given.” 

“Sounds like something a thief would say,” Jaemin says, still glaring. 

“It literally doesn’t,” Mark says quietly, and jumps back just in time to avoid being punched. 

“Keep reading,” Donghyuck says, inching closer so he can read the letter over Mark’s shoulder. 

Mark looks back down at the paper. “Where was I…right. ‘I know it’s useless to try to stop you, so I’ll try to help minimize damage. Watch out for each other, okay?’” Mark stops and looks up at Donghyuck, who feels his face heat. 

_ You need each other far more than you know, _ the letter finishes, and underneath, it’s signed by _ a friend. _

Mark’s gaze is searing hot, and for a minute, Donghyuck feels like Mark can read his mind. 

Jisung clears his throat, and the moment breaks. “Anyway,” he says slowly, looking between Mark and Donghyuck curiously, “it’s the newest in defensive tech.” He lifts the clothing. “I wear this stuff, and it’s great. You won’t get sweaty, and it doesn’t tear.”

“Hey, what about me, Jeno and Renjun?” Jaemin protests. 

“Yeah, I want cool stuff,” Jeno chimes in. 

Jisung shrugs. “You don’t get shot as much.” 

“I don’t think they even know about you,” Mark says, squinting down at the note. “It’s addressed to just me and Mark, and Jisung would’ve known about you, too.” 

“Ooh, so we’re like a secret,” Jaemin says, looking pleased. “People think it’s just the two of you, but you’ve actually got your three best friends at your backs.” 

“It’s not a secret anymore,” Jisung points out, “since I know about you guys now.” 

Jisung’s tone of voice sends ice through Donghyuck’s bloodstream. “If you tell anyone,” Donghyuck says quietly, “or if you put a single one of them in danger, I will find you and I will—” 

“Really hurt you,” Mark interrupts, putting a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. That, unfortunately, has always worked like a charm; the tension melts from Donghyuck’s muscles and some of the dangerous, frozen anger ebbs from him, like it’s being siphoned out by the warmth of Mark’s palm. 

“Just something to keep in mind,” Donghyuck finishes, and leans a hip on the counter. Jisung looks properly afraid, something that makes Donghyuck feel very smug. 

There’s a moment of tense silence in the kitchen, and then Jisung hesitantly picks up one of the cardboard-looking things and offers it to Mark. 

“It’s body armor,” Jisung says. “Stick it on your chest.” 

Mark does as he says, and as soon as the thing makes contact with his shirt, there’s a soft clicking noise as it unfolds. In seconds, it’s wrapped around his torso and shoulders. 

“Now that’s fucking _awesome_,” Jaemin says, reaching out to knock on Mark’s chest. 

Jisung nods at it. “It’s something that’s being developed. It won’t stop bullets at point-blank, because of the folding function, but any other weapon can’t hurt you. It’ll also cut the effects of any hit in half.” Jisung gives the body armor a proud smile. “Here—Jeno, right? You put this on.” 

Jeno takes other chestpiece hesitantly, startling when it clicks and expands against his torso. “Whoa, _ cool,_” he says, raising his arms and twisting around. “I feel like a badass.” 

“Hit him,” Jisung tells Donghyuck. “He won’t budge, and it also won’t hurt.” 

Donghyuck smiles to himself. Jisung must not know about the whole super-strength thing. The number of times Donghyuck has accidentally knocked Jeno through the wall…

“Ready, Jeno?” he asks, and Jeno’s eyes go wide.

“No, wait—” Jeno says, but it’s too late. Donghyuck hits Jeno squarely in the chest—not with all his strength, because he doesn’t want to kill Jeno (if it was Jaemin, _ maybe, _but Jeno’s generally pretty nice). Jeno goes flying, staggering backwards and shattering one of Jaemin’s baby pictures. The frame falls onto his head and glass explodes from it, scattering everywhere. 

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, but his exasperation is fake, barely covering the laughter that shakes his voice and creases his eyes. Donghyuck grins at him, absolutely delighted.

Jeno, a bit dazed, sits up gingerly. His palms are scraped and Donghyuck guesses there’ll be a pretty nasty bruise on his head by tomorrow. 

“Uh, so,” Jisung says, looking mildly embarrassed, “that’s generally _ not _ supposed to happen, it’s supposed to _ block _punches, not make them worse—” 

“I’ll try again,” Donghyuck says, thoroughly enjoying himself. Jisung’s getting more and more flustered with each passing moment, which, after his entirely too-smug intro, is incredibly satisfying. “Hey Mark, heads up!” 

Mark barely has time to roll his eyes before Donghyuck sweeps a foot up and around, making contact with the side of Mark’s torso. He joins Jeno against the wall a second later, head cracking against the baseboard. 

Jisung’s ears are red, and he can’t quite meet Donghyuck’s eyes anymore. Donghyuck’s chest burns with laughter, and his face is twitching with the effort of keeping it straight. 

“Oh my god, he’s bleeding,” Jaemin complains, going over to where Jeno is still struggling to get up, eyes glassy. Mark’s hands are, once again, covered in blood. Not that Jaemin’s too worried about him—it’s the wall, clearly, that’s more important, since it too is stained red. “My mom’s going to kill me.” 

“I don’t—I don’t get it,” Jisung stutters, clearly thrown-off by everyone’s nonchalance, or maybe the absurd amount of blood that’s suddenly gotten on everything. “How—what’s going on? Is this a trick?” 

Behind him, Mark finally lets his laughter out, which means within seconds Donghyuck is also laughing, one of those belly-laughs that make his ribs ache and eyes wet. Jeno and Jaemin join in a second later, and they’re all too busy making fun of Jisung to notice Renjun standing in the doorway with his school backpack, taking in the scene with an impressively neutral expression. 

“Jaemin’s mom is going to be so mad,” Renjun pipes up, and Mark straightens, wiping his streaming eyes. “What’s so funny?” 

Jaemin, who’s got Jeno propped against him, explains the whole thing. He seems much calmer about the whole bloodstain thing now that Renjun’s here—probably because he knows Renjun will help bully Mark into cleaning it up for him. 

“Oh, yeah,” Renjun says, cracking a smile. “That _ is _pretty funny.” 

“I still don’t get it,” Jisung says, nearly whining. “Someone tell me.” 

“You’re like, fifteen,” Donghyuck points out, and maybe he’s still being a bit mean. Sue him. Jisung is a brat. “Are you sure you want to hear it? Are you sure you’re not going to tell anyone?” 

“You already threatened my life once,” Jisung grumbles. “And I just saw you knock two people into a wall with your bare hands.” 

“Yeah, you’ve scared him enough,” Mark says, reasonable. He wipes his hands on a paper towel and feels around on the back of his head. Donghyuck feels a little bad for getting his hair all bloody, but Mark was going to shower tonight anyway. At least, Donghyuck hopes he does. He kind of stinks after the whole murderous-ballerina thing earlier. 

“_You’re _not any less scary,” Jisung accuses. “You should be dead. Or at least unconscious. Instead you’re standing upright, perfectly fine but covered in blood.” 

“He heals really fast,” Jaemin offers. “Like, _ really _fast. He lost a finger once and it grew back in about an hour.” 

“That was disgusting,” Mark says, nose wrinkling. “I couldn’t even watch, and it was _ my _ hand.” 

“Yeah, that one was pretty gross,” Donghyuck agrees, stomach twisting at the memory. “Sorry.” 

Mark shrugs. “It’s all good. I was the one who suggested we go after the sociopath with the saws.” 

“Ew, I remember that too,” Renjun says, frowning. “God, becoming vigilantes is one of the worst ideas Mark had. I still can’t believe you agreed, Hyuck.” 

“I felt bad for letting him die twice,” Donghyuck justifies. _ And I loved him only slightly less than I do now, _he adds silently. 

Jisung’s eyes are flickering between people like he’s watching a tennis match. “I feel like meeting you guys was a terrible mistake,” he says slowly, like the realization is just now dawning on him.

“You know, I actually feel the same way,” Jeno mutters, rubbing his head. “I’ve had so many concussions in the last year that I’m going to have permanent brain damage by the time I’m twenty.” 

“Hyuck’s got abilities,” Jaemin fills in once again when Jisung looks confused. “He’ll embellish it a lot, but he’s really just faster and stronger than the average human. That’s it. Nothing cool.” 

“Nothing cool,” Donghyuck scoffs. “Nothing _ cool. _I’ve mastered over ten types of martial arts, I’m trained in hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. I’m good with a knife, and better with a sword. I know fifty ways to hurt a man using just my left—” 

“What he’s trying to say is that he's really strong and fast and people went a little overboard training him,” Mark jumps in quickly, like he can sense the spiral. Donghyuck bites his tongue, a little irked at the interruption. Never mind that Mark was right—he was about to spiral down into his memories, of Mya and of everything she put him through, claiming some higher purpose before she'd dropped him off here and then vanished.

It’s remembering times like those that Donghyuck is grateful for his aunt and uncle, even if they mostly just ignore him. Being abandoned sucked, at first, and his aunt and uncle's apartment is tiny, and he hates it—but if he hadn't, he wouldn't have met his friends, which is one of the best things that has ever happened to him. It’s tied for first with meeting Mark, which has subcategories, a bunch of preludes to Donghyuck sending himself head-first into a desperate, nearly consuming love for him. 

If he thinks about it seriously—which he generally avoids doing, ever—it was inevitable. Mark was handsome, kind, and funny in a way that clicked easily. If he were to ask Renjun about it—something else he never, ever does—he’d say that it made sense, the transformation from friendship to love. Bound to happen, maybe. 

But since Donghyuck won’t think about it and he won’t ask Renjun, he looks at it like he looks at most things—with a tilted sense of humor, single-minded determination, and some extra drama, just to keep it interesting. 

Long story made real short: he’s in love with Mark, and he will be until an indeterminable amount of time. It doesn’t even matter if Mark loves him back (he does, but not in that way) or if sometimes he comes close to kissing him (two times now, once when they were drunk). All that matters is that Mark stays (which he does, always) and that sometimes he puts his hand on Donghyuck’s back and stops the spiral. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and comes back into himself. Mark is rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades, and it feels so nice that Donghyuck can’t help but lean into it. 

“…and after Hyuck brought me to be resurrected the second time, it messed me up enough that I now speed-heal,” Mark is finishing. His hand stills at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck, palm burning hot as always. He’s left out the whole not-dying thing, which is a good call since Donghyuck knows approximately _ nothing _ about Jisung. Maybe he’ll tail him for a couple blocks, just to see. Donghyuck isn’t _ too _worried about him—he could probably take Jisung out in less than a second—but it’s still good to check. Also, sneaking around alleyways and generally being shady is pretty fun.

“You guys are all crazy,” Jisung mutters. He turns to Donghyuck’s friends. “You just _ let _them in your house?” 

Jaemin shrugs. “They’re my best friends, and the maids don’t come into my rooms anymore.” 

“Rooms-plural makes you sound like you live in a palace,” Jeno points out. 

“Or like a dumbass,” Donghyuck adds, grinning. “Look, Renjun’s nodding, he agrees with me.” 

Jaemin rolls his eyes. 

“We all try to help out,” Jeno adds on. “I help with wounds. Renjun’s good under pressure. Jaemin’s got access to a lot of stuff he probably shouldn’t because he’s rich and his mom is a police captain.” 

There’s something odd on Jisung’s face as he listens to all of this, and suddenly he looks small, standing all alone on the other side of the counter. 

“That…that sounds nice,” he says timidly. 

Donghyuck has no idea how to react to that. Luckily, Mark does. 

“It’s good to have friends,” Mark agrees. “Hey, do you have anything else for us? If not, I think Hyuck and I were going to head out, right Hyuck?” 

_ No, what the fuck? _Donghyuck thinks, but then realizes that Mark is trying to let Jisung off the hook without being too awkward. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Donghyuck fumbles, trying to think of an excuse. “We have to…go to the grocery store.” 

Jaemin claps a hand over his mouth, making a sound that’s halfway between a snort and a cough. Jeno hides his face in his shoulder, and Renjun has to look up and fight his smile back. 

All three of them, though, don’t mention how awful both Donghyuck and Mark when it comes to cooking. Jeno, who lives with Mark off-campus, often complains about it. Donghyuck lives in the dorms, so he has the dining hall. He doesn’t know if he could live off his own cooking. 

“Ah,” Jisung says, fidgeting. “Yeah, that’s it. If there’s anything else, I’ll uh—I guess I’ll find you here.” 

“_Don’t _try to sneak in this time,” Jaemin warns, “or I’ll actually hit you with something. Maybe a pan. Just ring the doorbell.” 

“Fair enough,” Jisung says, grabbing the empty duffle bag. “Oh, right,” he adds, nodding at the face masks. “They said you should wear those. For safety. They’re a modified fabric so they don’t get stuffy.” 

Mark smiles at him. “Thanks, dude. If you’ve got any more cool stuff, come by.” 

“And bring some for me and Renjun,” Jeno says. “I want armor, too.” 

Jisung’s mouth quirks, and something like pride flickers across his face. “I’ll see what I can do.” He looks them over one last time before he’s slipping out through the back door, and then he’s gone. 

There’s a beat of silence over the five of them, before Jaemin brightens and claps his hands together. “So who wanted to get drunk?” 

* * *

Donghyuck promptly forgets about the armor after that, and doesn’t remember it until about three days later. He’s sitting in Stats 242 doodling down the side of his notebook and generally not paying attention when Mark texts him. 

_ Hi I know you’re in class but I need some help _

Donghyuck drops his pencil and picks up his phone, thumbs flying over the screen. Every part of him is already preparing to pack up and sprint from the room. If Mark’s in danger— 

_ It’s not an emergency tho _

Donghyuck lets out a breath and forces himself to relax. _ Yeah, what’s up? _He types, and then fidgets with his pencil as he watches the typing bubble at the bottom of the screen. He resists the urge to send another text. 

_ Ok so, you know how I’m in that club for engineering students, right _

_ Yes _

The typing bubble appears again, and then disappears. Donghyuck gives into the distracted, anxious tickle and sends _ ????? _for good measure when Mark doesn’t reply fast enough. 

_ So they’re having a formal event next week on wednesday, and a bunch of company reps are coming, it’s a huge opportunity and _

Donghyuck’s heart stops beating. Up front, the professor is talking about their first exam, or something equally unimportant. 

_ and? _

_ and, could you come with me? for backup _

Donghyuck can’t control the giddy joy that spreads through him, like he’s just stepped out into the sunshine. His smile threatens to crack his face open, and the majority of him wants to cheer or shout or grab the safety knife strapped under his shirt (just in case!) and slam it into the desk victoriously. 

_ just in case someone murders you? _ Donghyuck texts back, elated. _ or because everyone rejected you? or because i’m just way cuter than all the other boys? _

This time, Mark’s reply is fast. _ No. shut up. _

Donghyuck sends back a chain of random emojis to harass him a little more, and then turns his attention to the professor for the first time. 

“…that influences both of them, and as a result, causes a spurious association.” 

_ No thank you, _Donghyuck thinks, disgusted, and promptly goes back to his phone. 

_ It’s just because you’re my best friend, _ Mark has written, _ and you know how it is. How it be. you know?? _

_ Sure, _ Donghyuck sends back, amused. _ How it be _ is code for occasional crippling social anxiety, and a near-paralyzing fear of not being _ enough. _ It had taken a while to pry Mark’s insecurities from him, but they’d come out eventually. Mark, in turn, had asked Donghyuck what _ he _was most ashamed of. Donghyuck can remember the exact moment the fear had trickled over him, cold and deadly, before he’d salvaged the situation and told Mark about the first time he’d gone to the shooting range with his uncle. What had started out as a nice bonding moment ended with Donghyuck accidentally shredding his uncle’s ego and attracting the attention of the majority of room. Shouldn’t have hit all of those headshots, even on the moving targets.

Mark had looked a little disappointed, but he’d still laughed, and they’d dropped the subject. Neither of them have bothered to bring it up again since. 

_ Also the armor Jisung gave us had a tracker in it, _ Mark sends, and Donghyuck nearly drops his phone in surprise. Did Jisung know about it? Was it given to them for the _ reason _ of tracking them—to find out who they were? Strange to give someone a gift as fancy as _ that _only for it to be a trap.

Donghyuck’s head spins a little trying to sort it all out, but Mark’s next text helps: _ It wasn’t activated. But still. Jeno found it, he’s tracing it backwards. Don’t ask me how. he’s got a fancy computer. _

_ omg !!!! _ Donghyuck texts back, scowling at the screen. _ if it was activated!!! i’d REALLY have to kill someone _

_ no killing, _ Mark replies, and then, _ pay attention. _

_ I hate stats. _

He just gets a few emojis in response. But instead of listening to Mark and refocusing on the lesson, he pulls up Jaemin’s contact instead. 

_ Hey let’s go harass Mark and his skater friends later what do u say? _

Jaemin’s reply, as always, is instant, satisfying, and accompanied by way too many kissy faces: _ yes!!!!!! _

* * *

When Donghyuck thinks of _ vigilantes, _he thinks of leather jackets, sleek masks and stealth moves through the dark. He thinks of cat burglars. He thinks of moody main characters, single-handedly dropping in and out of crime scenes without a trace. 

What he doesn’t think of is Mark Lee with his duct-taped Vans and faded hoodie, doing skateboard tricks on railings. He doesn’t think of himself, either, with the holes in the knees of his pants or the stupid baseball cap he’s wearing, the one Mya gave him when he turned ten. Vigilantes are driven, determined, and _ good, _and usually not hopelessly in love with their best friend—and shit, he’s come full circle. Most of his thoughts nowadays start and end at Mark. Especially sitting here, watching him and his friends heckle each other. Mark is smiling. Mark is wearing blue. And Donghyuck loves him so much it’s making him itchy and mildly homicidal. 

Jaemin takes a sip of his coffee, nodding at Mark. “He’s cute in blue.” 

“He’s cute in every single color,” Donghyuck replies, setting his chin in his hands. _ I love him in every color, _he wants to say. If he had the courage to say it. Or the stupidity. He doesn’t quite know which it would be. 

Jaemin gives Donghyuck a knowing look. It’s silly to try and hide the truth from Jaemin, but he tries anyway, carefully building his expression into something unreadable. In front of them, one of Mark’s friends loses her skateboard and lands hard on her hands and knees. Mark laughs with her and the others, and Donghyuck feels his whole chest fill with warmth. “You should tell him,” Jaemin says over the sound of wheels on pavement. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Donghyuck fires back casually, though his heart speeds.

“You’re full of shit,” Jaemin scoffs, shaking the ice in his coffee cup. 

Donghyuck doesn’t take his eyes off of Mark, who is trying to do a complicated-looking flip with his skateboard. “And you’re a piece of shit.” 

Jaemin snorts. “Fair enough. Oh, hey, did you hear about the trackers in the armor?” 

“Yeah, fuck,” Donghyuck says, glad for the change of subject. “Mark said Jeno could track them, but I’m really tempted to go after Jisung on my own.” 

Jaemin grins. “I was literally about to suggest that. Would Mark be down?” 

“I wasn’t…going to tell him,” Donghyuck says distractedly, looking down at his fingernails. “I wouldn’t _ hurt _him, I was just gonna…talk.” 

“Is that what they call it?” Jaemin asks, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t know vigilantes had another name for _ threaten.” _

“You know what,” Donghyuck starts hotly, but Jaemin’s phone buzzes and he holds up a hand, all humor draining from his face. 

“Hold up, hold up,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck slides over the top of the picnic table so he can peer over Jaemin’s shoulder. “Okay, so my mom gets texts alerts when there’s an emergency, right, and Renjun’s paranoid, right, so I also linked _ my _phone number to it, right—” 

“Dude,” Donghyuck complains, hitting Jaemin the shoulder, “just tell me.” 

Jaemin tilts his phone in Donghyuck’s direction. 

_ 7th & State: ARSENIC RUN-IN. MULTIPLE HOSTAGES. BACK-UP REQUESTED. ALL UNITS IN AREA, MOBILIZE IMMEDIATELY. _

Donghyuck’s stomach flips. “Arsenic? What’s he doing _ here? _I thought he was old news and left months ago.” 

“Apparently not,” Jaemin says. “Wait, shit—there’s another alert.” 

_ UPDATE (7th & State) : ARSENIC APPEARS TO HAVE DANCING (HOLD FOR MORE INFO) ACCOMPLICE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. _

“Fucking sh—MARK!” Donghyuck shouts, standing up on the bench next to Jaemin. Mark looks up mid-conversation, starts to smile, sees the urgency on Donghyuck’s face, and immediately excuses himself. Behind him, his friends catcall and jeer him, loud enough that by the time Mark gets to their table, his ears are a little pink. 

“What’s up?” he asks intently, ignoring the way his friends are _ woo-_ing as he sits down across from them. 

Jaemin explains, and Mark’s eyebrows furrow. “Hyuck, we _ have _ to go,” he says, and Donghyuck quickly looks down at his hands before Mark can make eye contact and melt Donghyuck’s resolve in a second. He prides himself on his stubbornness. 

“I’m _ tired,_” Donghyuck whines. “I don’t want to. Besides, a ‘dancing accomplice’? You really want to face Silver Slipper _ again? _” 

“Silver Slipper is a stupid name,” Jaemin chimes in. “Was that Mark’s doing? It’s not vulgar or insulting, so it must be.” 

“Shut up,” Donghyuck and Mark say in unison, and Donghyuck can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. 

“People could get hurt, Hyuck,” Mark says quietly. “And you promised me—” 

“I know what I promised,” Donghyuck jumps in quickly, cheeks heating at the memory. Jaemin looks between them curiously. “But _ you _were the one that jumped, not me.” 

“Hyuck,” Mark says plainly, and Donghyuck feels his resolve waver, just a little. 

_ NO, _ Donghyuck tells himself firmly. _ I may love you, Mark Lee, but you’re the worst! _

“We don’t have the armor or the masks,” Donghyuck tries next, but since it’s Mark, they actually _ do _have the masks, and one of the chestpieces. He sets his ratty backpack onto the table and rifles through it for a second. 

“Here,” he says, throwing a mask at Donghyuck. “Look, now you’ll even look the part.” 

“Why don’t I get the armor?” Donghyuck asks, watching as Mark picks it up and spins it in his palm. “I do all the fighting, and you have speed healing.” 

“But unlike you, I actually get _ hurt,_” Mark reminds him. 

“Yeah,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck huffs in frustration as the argument starts to get away from him. “Didn’t you throw him through a window?” 

“Yes, but that’s besides the point—” Donghyuck starts, but both Mark and Jaemin cut in with a hundred different examples, effectively condemning Donghyuck to helping a bunch of stupid police officers with a couple of unstable, vaguely evil _ bad guys _with abilities. 

“Fine, fine, fine,” Donghyuck huffs after they’re done verbally assaulting him. “I’ll do it. Don’t be a big baby about it.” 

“We’re doing the _ right thing_,” Mark insists. “Come on, Hyuck. The city needs you.” 

It’s this, combined with the absolutely deadly expression on Mark’s face (soft at the edges, mostly-amused but also earnest) that one-shots Donghyuck and melts the last of his resistance. 

“You two are the _ worst _ vigilante duo in the whole world,” Jaemin says as Mark jogs back over to say goodbye to his friends. “You’re wearing a _ baseball _ cap. Mark is going to _ skateboard _ to a _ hostage crisis._” Jaemin wrinkles his nose. “Besides, shouldn’t you leave this to Twofold?” 

“Taeil’s probably already there,” Mark says, coming back over. “But he’s under police jurisdiction.” 

“We, fortunately, are not,” Donghyuck adds, and slow excitement begins to roll over him, nerves starting to tingle with anticipation of a good fight. “See you later, Jaemin. Bring Renjun and Jeno.” 

Mark drops his skateboard onto the ground, and Donghyuck loops the face mask around his ears. Jaemin stares at them both, suspended between disbelief, exasperation, and complete love. “You two are _ awful _for each other. One day, you’re both going to end up dead because of a combined stupid idea.” 

“An unfortunate friendship, I know,” Mark jokes, and then pushes off the ground, hard, heading down the street. “Peace out, Jaemin! We’ll text you.” 

Donghyuck makes sure to turn and give Jaemin a little wave, like they’re off to do something decisively more casual than solve a hostage crisis and fight a crazy ballerina. Jaemin shouts something at them, but they’re already too far to hear. _ Unfortunate friendships indeed, _ Donghyuck thinks smugly, looking over at Mark and feeling every part of him tense in excited anticipation. They keep running, straight towards the sirens, towards danger, towards inevitable injury and reversible death. Donghyuck is wearing red Converse. Mark does an ollie. Neither of them know that they’re the police’s only hope in resolving this peacefully and quietly. None of the police know that _ peaceful _ and _ quiet _aren’t in Mark and Donghyuck’s vocabulary. 

Both are in for one hell of a fight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	2. prelude: what ten finds on his doorstep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled as: how donghyuck first met ten, the cheapest necromancer he could find.

Don't get your facts mixed up—the whole vigilante thing _actually _starts with a careless mistake. 

Donghyuck rings the doorbell to a necromancer’s apartment. It’s two in the morning, and Ten opens the door with a confused look on his face. Donghyuck, without so much as a  _hi nice to meet you,_ steps in and proceeds to dump a body on the recently-cleaned carpet. It’s cream, of course, and Ten had spent an hour stress-vacuuming after he’d dumped a whole plate of cake crumbs onto it. 

“_What _is this,” Ten says, wrinkling his nose, “and _who _are you?” 

“It’s my best friend,” Donghyuck answers, “and I’m Donghyuck Lee. My, uh—a guy told me you could help.” 

“With _what?” _Ten asks, going so far to lift his shirt over his nose. A little dramatic, Donghyuck thinks, since Mark doesn’t even smell bad. Actually, he can’t tell. He hasn’t been able to smell much since that massive chemical fire he’d started downtown a few months ago when the battery in his electric scooter had exploded. “He’s dead. Shouldn’t you bring him to a morgue? Or a coroner?” 

“Yeah, if I wanted him to _stay _dead,” Donghyuck says, crossing his arms. “But he’s my best friend, and I sort of need him back alive.” 

Instantly, Ten’s demeanor changes. His eyes narrow and his hands flex, like he’s trying to assess how high of a threat Donghyuck is. 

(Very high, in case anyone was wondering. Probably higher than Ten could ever guess). 

“Who sent you? Rodriguez? Zhang? Whoever it is, tell them they should fuck off—” 

“Neither,” Donghyuck interrupts. “I came by myself.” 

A beat of silence. Ten still doesn’t buy it. 

“I swear. I was supposed to die, not him. The guy who shot him told me about you.” 

That gets an eyebrow raise. “Oh?”

“The shot meant for me hit him.” Donghyuck nods at Mark, lying on the ground and still distressingly dead. God, Donghyuck misses him already. “Your name was the last thing I got out of him before I killed him.” 

And there it is—a smile. Small, but trusting. The tension eases from Ten’s face, and he uncrosses his arms. 

“Probably one of Zhang’s old guys, then,” Ten says. “Nasty sons-of-bitches. How’d you kill him?” 

“Shot him,” Donghyuck informs him, pulling at a loose thread on his shirt. “Seemed sorta funny. He shot me and missed. I shot him and didn't.” 

“Funny?” 

“Yeah, like, ironic. Or is that not the word?” 

“No, ironic seems right. Everything backfired on him.” Ten purses his lips. “Yeah, I can see how that would be funny.” 

Donghyuck grins. “So you’ll fix my friend?” 

“Yeah, if you’ve got two hundred bucks,” Ten says, examining his fingernails casually. 

“Uh, not on me,” Donghyuck says. “But I can get it pretty easily.” 

“Deal,” Ten replies. Donghyuck’s eyes widen, surprised, but Ten quickly adds, “oh, and it’s not because I trust you. It’s because if you don’t, you’ll be pretty dead pretty fast.” 

“Alright,” Donghyuck agrees, still amiable. “Sounds fair.” 

Ten nods and cracks his knuckles. “Grab the dead boy and put him on the table.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“To change my shirt,” Ten says, like it’s obvious. “I don’t want it covered in blood.” 

* * *

Donghyuck comes back a week later with four hundred bucks and his best friend, who's dead _again_. He's sobbing this time around, and Ten doesn't even ask, just hauls him onto the table (that he _just _cleaned, but that's beside the point) and focuses. Something feels off—_wrong_, even—but Ten assumes it's because it's a new moon, and his abilities get a little out-of-hand when there's more darkness. So he ignores it and keeps going, and eventually, Mark Lee's chest begins to move again. Donghyuck starts crying again for a totally different reason—relief—but Ten's head spins and his stomach rolls, and that is when he knows he's screwed-up on such a colossal level. This boy will never be right again. 

(_That makes two of them_, he will think later. But for now, he ushers Donghyuck out the door and tries not to vomit.) 

* * *

Ten calls his boyfriend immediately after Donghyuck leaves, his best friend slowly resurrecting in his arms. He takes a deep breath and lets the smile slip from his face; his hands are shaking. 

“Hi babe,” Ten says as soon as the call connects. “I just made a really stupid mistake.” 


	3. you didn't hear that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sneaking, some fighting, and some good, all-natural pining. 
> 
> Donghyuck thinks they should've named Arsenic something funnier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i am back (somehow) with the OFFICIAL chapter 2 (even if says chapter 3) which i once again give to roosa. accept this gift or be smote. thanks bb ily very much. 
> 
> we'll see how this one goes. i'm trying something out. be patient please. i might not continue it or maybe i will but either way--here it is.

Donghyuck crouches on a rooftop across the street, checking his weapons (only two knives since he’s fairly unprepared) and the status of the hostages. The area is surrounded by police cars, and Donghyuck can make out Taeil, dressed as Twofold, standing with his arms crossed next to Jaemin’s mom and a few other officers in bulletproof vests. Cool wind stirs his hair and he leans over the lip of the roof, strategically assessing the situation and putting a plan together in his head. He’s a trained professional—this should be an easy-in, easy-out sort of situation.

“Wait, hold,” Donghyuck interrupts, remembering something suddenly, “I have to text my aunt that I’m not going to make it to dinner tonight. She keeps asking me and it's pissing me off.” 

“Why are you narrating everything anyway?” Mark asks, confused. “You’re literally using your phone to zoom in and count criminals. That’s not strategic _ or _ professional.” 

“I don’t have super-sight, as awesome as that would be,” Donghyuck replies distractedly. “Do you think adding emojis is overkill?” 

“I think you should just send it,” Mark says. “It’s, uh, a little tense down here.” 

“What are they saying?” Donghyuck asks. 

“Hang on a sec.” Mark’s end goes silent, and Donghyuck can hear worried voices. “Uh, they’re talking about Silver Slipper—some hired gunmen—and they don’t know how Arsenic escaped, just that he’s apparently got…deer? Oh, gear. He’s got all his gear.” 

“I’d rather him have deer than gear,” Donghyuck mutters, thinking about the last time they fought Arsenic. “Easier to fight.” His nausea had lasted for _ days, _and his dreams had been uncomfortably vivid after inhaling whatever gas Arsenic had attacked them with. 

“I don’t know,” Mark says doubtfully. “Have you ever seen a deer? Have you ever seen a lot of deer? They’re sort of scary.” 

“Okay, we’re going to deal with your deer-fear later,” Donghyuck says. “Add Jeno or Renjun to this call. I want a little bit more info and maybe some more lethal weaponry before I jump into this.” 

“Dude. Those people in there could die at any second,” Mark points out. 

“Which is why I need a sword,” Donghyuck says, and then gets a sudden idea. “Hey, Mark, I betcha one of those cop cars is just _ full _of stuff they bring for Twofold, and—” 

“I’m not robbing Taeil,” Mark interrupts. “He’d know in a second.” 

“Come on, _ please,_” Donghyuck whines. “At least _ look. _It would make it so much easier for us in there, and faster, too.” 

He can feel Mark wavering, so he quickly scrambles for something emotional and hard-hitting he can say. “We could really, actually help,” Donghyuck finishes, and Mark sighs. Victory swoops in Donghyuck’s chest, and he sits back on his heels. He’s glad Mark can’t see his smug grin. 

“Okay,” Mark relents, and Donghyuck watches from the roof as he leaves his hiding spot and shuffles behind a police car, peering through the back window. Donghyuck can just make out the glint of his phone screen as he snaps a picture, which Donghyuck gets a second later. 

“Ooh, they’ve got firearms,” Donghyuck says, excitement beginning to thrum through his veins. “And yes! A sword! Tactical knife harnesses!” 

“I’m guessing…good things?” 

“Mark, you _ have _ to grab them,” Donghyuck begs. “I haven’t had a single stroke of good luck since we started this stupid thing. A sword would make my day. No—it would make my _ year. _ My _ life.” _

“I’m just worried,” Mark admits, even as he creeps towards the passenger-side door. “You never really _ talked _about what happened with Mya, but I know she fucked you up—” 

Memories flash through Donghyuck’s mind, but he shakes them away. “I don’t talk about it because it doesn’t matter,” he says firmly. “Yeah, she was out of her mind, and yeah, I have no idea why my parents left me with her, but it’s in the past.” 

“Hyuck—” 

“You’re my best friend in the whole wide world,” Donghyuck says earnestly, as Mark starts to pull stuff out of the car and stack it on the ground next to him. “I’d tell you if something was wrong.” _ Probably. Maybe. Depending on the thing. _Mark worries far more than he lets anyone see, and besides, it’s not Mark’s job to babysit Donghyuck. They’re not dating (unfortunately) and nobody is paying him (hopefully) to watch Donghyuck, so the less stress he can cause Mark, the better. 

“Okay, okay,” Mark says, giving in. “I trust you.” 

Butterflies flap relentlessly in Donghyuck’s chest. He wants to set them on fire. 

“Great,” he says, trying very hard to sound casual. “Thanks.” 

“But if you ever want to talk—” 

“I’m adding Jaemin to the call,” Donghyuck interrupts forcefully, cutting Mark off. Jaemin picks up instantly, fortunately, so the subject is forced to change. 

“Hi, Hyuck,” Jaemin says. “Jeno’s here too. What’s your status?” 

“I got a _ sword,_” Donghyuck all-but-sings. “And Mark wrote down where he left his skateboard so we don’t have to look for it this time.” 

“Okay, great, but there’s a hostage situation,” Jeno reminds them. “How’s _ that _going?” 

“They’re sending in a negotiator, I think,” Mark says, and Donghyuck watches him scoot forward a little more to get a better look. “They don’t want to send Twofold in yet because they think it’ll make the situation worse.” 

“Fuck, Mark, get out of there, you’ve got two cops headed your way,” Donghyuck says sharply, watching two officers point at the car Mark’s crouched by. “I’ll come down and meet you in the alley. I saw a window we can get through.” 

“Why’d you call us again?” Jaemin asks. 

At the same time, Mark groans. “Not another window. That _ hurts, _you know?” 

“Don’t be a baby,” Donghyuck chides, smothering laughter when Mark groans again. “You can heal at the speed of light, basically.” 

“I don’t want to sit here and listen to you guys flirt, gross,” Jeno says, making a retching noise. 

“We weren’t—” Mark sputters. “Why would you—” 

“That’s besides the point,” Donghyuck steps in, trying to ignore how hot his face feels. “We need you to keep us updated on what they’re doing outside. Turn the news on, tap your mom’s phone, read the text updates, whatever. But I don’t wanna get arrested. That’s happened before, and breaking out of jail _ sucks.” _

“I wasn’t flirting,” Mark mutters quietly. 

“Yes you were,” Jeno and Jaemin chorus simultaneously. 

“_Hostage crisis," _Donghyuck reminds them, if only to get the pressure off of Mark. Just because Donghyuck’s in love with him doesn’t mean the feelings go the other way. Which, if that were the case, would absolutely _ destroy _him, so he’s hoping that it’s not. Even though it probably is. 

_ No it’s not, _ he counters stubbornly. _ There’s a chance it could happen. _

“Hyuck, I’m here,” Mark says. “Where are you?” 

“Look up,” Donghyuck replies, and leaps to the rooftop of the office building, clearing a gap that would be impossible for anyone _ but _him to jump. He lands, tucks and rolls, coming up over the edge of the building and scrambling down the fire escape near-silently (it’s all in the foot placement) and dropping to crouch next to Mark, who startles so badly he drops his phone with a clatter. 

“Hi,” Donghyuck says brightly, letting Mark punch him in the arm. 

“Dude,” Mark complains, ending the call with Donghyuck but leaving their other friends on the line. 

Donghyuck just grins at him, before tilting his head up at the building they need to break into. “Okay, how are we going to do this?” 

The silence is deafening. Not a single person has any idea as to how they’re going to pull this off. 

Luckily, Renjun takes this exact moment to walk in. “Did you hear about the—oh, you’re already on the phone?” 

“Renjun,” they all chorus simultaneously, their relief identical and palpable. 

“Help us think of a plan,” Jeno says. “Before people die.” 

“Or before Twofold steals all the glory,” Donghyuck adds. “I like making headlines. _ Savvy Vigilante Duo Once Again Saves Day—” _

“More like, _ Teenagers Wearing Airpods and Masks Incorrectly Wield Swords and Cause Property Damage,_” Jaemin laughs, which cracks both Jeno and Renjun up as well. 

“You guys,” Donghyuck whines, feeling teamed-up on. “C’mon.” 

“Okay, okay, serious talk,” Jaemin agrees. “Here’s the blueprints for this building, and the news.” 

“Put this on while we talk,” Mark says, handing Donghyuck the stuff he’d taken. Donghyuck takes it, feeling like he’s woken up on Christmas morning, he’s so excited. In the beginning, he’d had a katana or two, and a small handgun he’d taken from his uncle. The katana had been lost very quickly, and the handgun had shattered because he’d pistol-whipped someone way too hard. He’d accidentally killed them _ and _had broken his gun. 

Holding the new katana in his hand is almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. The weight, the shape of it is _ perfect, _ nostalgic and familiar all at once. With it in his hands, he feels competent. Strong. Like he’s _ actually _ capable of saving people and protecting Mark, not just pretending. Though there’s still a fair amount of that, too. He doesn’t _ really _know what he’s doing, sword or not. 

“—and if Donghyuck can take Arsenic down, then you don’t have to fight two at once,” Renjun is saying. “Sound good?” 

“Yeah, tight,” Mark agrees, reaching out to Donghyuck, who automatically grabs his hand. Mark squeezes once before he lets go. “You got that, Hyuck?” 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Donghyuck says, even though he’s got _ no _clue as to what’s going on. “I won’t kill anybody, I promise.” 

Mark sets an arm around Donghyuck’s shoulder, pulling him close. “Then we’re good to go,” he says. “Let us know if anything else comes up, okay?” 

“Will do,” Jeno promises. 

“Good luck in there, you guys,” Renjun says. “Hyuck, trust Mark’s gut. Especially if you get any of Arsenic’s gas in your lungs again.” 

Mark mutters something under his breath and Renjun sighs. Donghyuck nudges Mark, curious, who only gives him an unreadable look before turning back to the phone. 

“Anything else?” he asks. 

“They’re sending a negotiator in about ten minutes,” Jaemin warns. “So you gotta turn stuff around before then.” 

“Ten minutes,” Donghyuck says, taking a breath. “I can do ten minutes.” He fumbles for the mask in his jacket pocket, which he’d dropped on the top of Mark’s skateboard. Jisung _ was _right—Donghyuck can breathe just fine through it, like it’s not even there in the first place. 

“Catch you on the flipside, guys,” Mark says, and then hangs up. He pulls his headphones from his ears, putting them away before also shedding his jacket and pulling out his mask. “You okay?” he asks Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck takes a breath. “This is bigger than anything we’ve ever done,” he says. “We could get in so much trouble and I don’t wanna—I don’t want to lose you.” The truth tumbles out before Donghyuck can hold it back. He’s glad the mask covers the majority of his blush. 

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Mark says easily. “This place isn’t that big.” 

_ Oh my god, I’m in love with an idiot, _Donghyuck thinks, but he’s slightly relieved the meaning went over Mark’s head. 

“Awesome,” Donghyuck says, rolling his eyes. Mark gives him a double thumbs-up and smiles. “Okay, are we gonna do this or not?” 

Mark lifts his mask up over his face, and it would be a really cool moment if Donghyuck’s aunt hadn’t just sent him an immensely passive-aggressive text. So Mark has to wait for Donghyuck to write back _Sorry__,_ _I'll give you more warning next time_, and _ then _they can actually go. 

Donghyuck boosts Mark up to the window, and the clock starts counting down. 

* * *

The police outside have no idea that their success is entirely dependent on two college kids and a half-baked plan that only one of them remembers. 

* * *

Donghyuck and Mark end up in a darkened office. They leave the window open just in case they need a fast exit, and also because Mark would rather go through the window _ without _breaking it. 

“We need to take the lackeys out first,” Mark whispers as Donghyuck crawls around the desk and towards the door. “Or you’ll have no chance when you get to Silver Slipper, much less Arsenic.” 

“Aren’t _ you _taking care of Silver Slipper?” Donghyuck hisses. “Why do I have to fight her again?” 

“Because I’ll die if I try to fight her,” Mark points out. “And that’s just a pain in the ass. Coming back alive always makes me feel like shit. I’m the decoy. _ You’re _the fighter here, remember?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Donghyuck mutters, and starts to open the door. Behind him, Mark makes a choking noise and dives for Donghyuck, tackling him to the side just as the door opens from the hallway. A guard pokes his head into the room, and a flashlight beam sweeps through.

Donghyuck’s brain short-circuits as Mark crushes him to the wall, breath coming short and fast. He knows there’s danger—voices in the hall asking if everything’s okay, the threat of being discovered right from the start—but all he can register is _ Mark, _ warm and solid and pressed against him. God, Donghyuck’s had _ dreams _about this. Slightly delirious, he hooks his arms around Mark’s middle and pulls him closer, even as the door closes. 

“Must’ve been my imagination,” says one of the voices, and the footsteps recede down the hallway before disappearing entirely. 

Donghyuck breathes Mark in, face tucked against his chest. He can both hear and feel Mark’s heart, wild and off-kilter. For a second there, he’d genuinely been terrified. 

_ Makes one of us, _ Donghyuck thinks, mind fuzzy. There’s a part of him that’s practically _ singing _at all the contact, while the rest of him is getting ready to fall asleep, safe and content at last.

“What are you doing?” Mark asks, confused, and Donghyuck snaps out of it, opening his eyes and pulling his arms back. Cold air fills the space between them, and the singing part of him starts to whine at the loss of contact. 

“Nothing,” he says quickly, not liking the way Mark keeps staring at him, trying to put the pieces of what just happened together. “How’d you know they were going to open that door?” 

Mark sighs and sits back all the way. “Don’t get mad,” he starts slowly, which of course sends dread sinking through Donghyuck’s stomach.

“Uh oh,” Donghyuck says. “What’d you do?” 

“Well, it’s not, uh, my fault,” Mark says, “it’s sort of…yours.” 

“Mine?” Donghyuck’s heart sinks and his stomach knots. “What…why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Remember the second time I got resurrected,” Mark explains carefully, “except I was already sort of half-alive?” 

“Right, because I didn’t know you could come back to life yet,” Donghyuck says, nodding. He fights back a wave of bitter emotion when Mark’s serious expression doesn’t shift. 

“So, I got sort of messed—” 

Donghyuck’s phone buzzes, interrupting the conversation. His stomach drops when he reads the text from Jeno. “Arsenic’s just killed a hostage.” 

Mark’s face pales. “Shit. We gotta go. I’ll explain later, okay?” 

“Mark—” 

“We don’t have time,” Mark says. “Take those dudes down the hall out. I’ll find Silver Slipper and try to lead her away from the lobby.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t feel good about just letting it go, but he doesn’t really have much of a choice. “Fine. I’ll let you know when we’re good to move,” Donghyuck huffs, feeling very left out. Renjun had _ definitely _ known what Mark was going to say, which makes him angry because _ he’s _ supposed to be Mark’s best friend, not _ Renjun. _

He tries not to let that get to him. 

“Thanks, Hyuck,” Mark says, sounding far too relieved. “Be careful.” 

“Walk off a cliff,” Donghyuck mutters under his breath. 

Well, he never claimed he wasn’t petty. Taking the moral high ground is for stuck-up losers anyway. 

It’s almost nice to have someone to take his anger out on. Donghyuck spends a few minutes more than necessary taking down all the enemies, but by the time he jogs back to Mark he no longer feels quite so homicidal. 

“This level’s clear,” he says, stopping in the doorway and wiping his hands off. Mark gets to his feet and offers his fist to Donghyuck. Donghyuck bumps it, and Mark grins. 

“Stage two,” he says, and they set off for the lobby.

* * *

Officer Johnny Seo is getting a migraine, and it’s mostly because of the 7th precinct, which is filled with uptight, moralistic idiots who keep glaring at Taeil and muttering things under their breath. 

“Getting mad will only make it worse,” Taeil says from behind him, sounding amused. Johnny turns, letting out a tense breath. 

“They’re not helping,” he says, nodding at the office building. “Arsenic has already killed a hostage, and we _ still _don’t know what he wants. I think the negotiator’s afraid of going in there.” 

Taeil sighs deeply. “I hate waiting as much as you, Officer. I can only hope that—” 

He pauses here, and Johnny tilts his head curiously. 

“Hope what?” 

“Nothing,” Taeil says distantly, eyes on the lobby. “It’s nothing.” 

* * *

“How are we going to get Silver Slipper’s attention without alerting Arsenic?” Mark asks, crouched next to Donghyuck at the top of the stairs. They watch Arsenic pace back and forth, masked and anonymous, dressed in dark green and black. Most hostages are huddled in a corner, sweating and terrified, but one—the one he must’ve killed—is lying face-up in the middle of the lobby, skin green-tinged. Her eyes are bloodshot and her lips are colorless. It’s gruesome in true Arsenic fashion. Donghyuck makes a face. 

Mark, meanwhile, makes a retching noise. “Oh, fuck, she’s really—I might vomit, Hyuck, seriously, I can’t look.” 

“Don’t be a baby,” Donghyuck says. “It’s just a dead body. _ You’ve _been dead before, remember? Don’t be, uh, dead-ist? Like classist, but for dead people?” 

“Stop,” Mark groans, breathing heavily into his hands. “You’re making it worse.” 

Donghyuck rubs Mark’s back soothingly, and Mark tips into Donghyuck’s side. “Deep breath,” Donghyuck advises. “Just pretend she’s sleeping.” 

Mark takes a breath. “Okay. We’re doing this.” 

“We’re doing this,” Donghyuck echoes. “We got this.” He looks around for something that’ll work to lead Silver Slipper away, and catches sight of one of the guards he’d knocked out, propped awkwardly against a doorway. “Hey, grab that dude’s walkie-talkie.” 

Mark looks over to where Donghyuck is pointing, eyes lighting up. “Nice call. I can pretend to be him and lure Silver Slipper away.” 

Donghyuck stares at him. “No, I was thinking I could throw it really hard at her head and knock her out.” 

There’s a long, distinctly awkward pause. “You’re kidding,” Mark says. “Please tell me that wasn’t your idea.” 

“Oh, like yours was so much better,” Donghyuck scoffs, feeling both betrayed _ and _ offended. “I have great aim _ and _super-strength.” 

Mark claps a hand over his mouth to stop the laughter. “Dude.” 

“Okay, I realize now that’s a dumb plan,” Donghyuck says quickly, but it’s hard to be offended when Mark’s eyes are curving with the force of his smile, dimples out in full force. “Don’t laugh or I’ll laugh and our cover will be blown.” 

Mark bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “How have we not died yet?” 

“Well—” Donghyuck starts, because technically, Mark _ has _ died. Multiple times too, if you’re keeping track. 

“That was rhetorical, Hyuck,” Mark says, jogging up the stairs and grabbing the walkie-talkie off the unconscious guard’s belt. He jumps back down, grinning brightly. “I’ll lead her off, okay?” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck replies, a little dazed. Distantly, he knows it’s a terrible idea and Mark could get _ extraordinarily _hurt, but most of him is, once again, knocked out by that smile. “See you soon.” 

Mark nods, still grinning, and heads off down the hallway. 

“I love you,” Donghyuck says, like an afterthought. Mark, of course, can’t hear him. 

_ Focus, Hyuck, _ he tells himself, slapping his cheeks a little. _ You’ve got a job to do. _

Ten seconds later, Silver Slipper slinks forward and says something to Arsenic. He stares at her for a long moment before he nods, gesturing at three or so guards, who leave the lobby with her. 

“Showtime,” Donghyuck whispers, and does an inventory check: two knives, a sword, a handgun. No extra ammo, and no back-up weapons save for his safety knife, which he’s always got on him in case of really extreme emergencies. He spends an extra second thinking up a couple good wisecracks, because what’s a terrible vigilante if not a source for inspiring comedic one-liners? Then he takes a deep breath, makes sure his mask isn’t about to fall off, then slides down the banister and lands lightly in the lobby. 

“You know,” Donghyuck starts conversationally, everyone in the room turning to look at him, “I liked you better when you were in jail.” 

“_You_,” Arsenic spits, and reaches for his belt. At the same time, the guards raise their rifles, and Donghyuck is suddenly very aware of his lack of armor. He should’ve taken the one Jeno was investigating, GPS tracker or not. Luckily, a decade of training kicks in, and he rolls to the side, pulling the stolen guns out. The first shot goes wide—the kick on it is stronger than he remembered—but the next few ones hit true, tearing through clothing and flesh. The guards crumple to the ground, dropping their weapons and moaning in pain. 

“Oh, relax,” Donghyuck tells them, wrinkling his nose at the mess, “I didn’t _ kill _you. You’ll be fine.” 

The hostages in the corner stare up at him in terror as he approaches, but he waves at them and nods towards the emergency exits. 

“Get out of here,” he whispers. “Before Arsenic starts shooting gas.” 

They stagger to their feet. One pale-faced woman gives him a shaky _ thank-you _as she passes him. 

Arsenic does not move as Donghyuck approaches, only regards him silently. Or, Donghyuck _ thinks _Arsenic is regarding him. It’s hard to tell through his mask, which is made of black, opaque fabric. 

“Hey Arsenic,” Donghyuck calls, clicking at him like he’s a dog, or a little kid, “you awake in there? You good? You ready to let these guys go?” he waves at another group of people as he passes them, and they make a break for the door. “Why _ did _you need hostages, anyway? The police can’t figure out what you want.” 

Arsenic finally moves. “It is not about what I want,” he says, voice a low rumble. “I was freed, and paid to do a job. That is all.” 

Something about his words strike Donghyuck as odd, and he tucks them away so he can run them past his friends later. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk like you’re Darth Vader? No?” 

“I don’t see the point in this,” Arsenic informs Donghyuck cooly. “We both know how this is going to go, especially now that your partner with the…_ keen sense _ isn’t here to help you out.” 

Donghyuck squints at Arsenic. “The _ what? _” 

Arsenic waves a hand. “It’s obvious. Ask him next time you see him.” 

“Oh, now a _ villain _knows your secret, but I don’t?” Donghyuck shouts, even though Mark can’t hear him. “This is stupid,” he says, turning back to Arsenic. “Can’t I just kick your ass and send you back to jail?”

“You may try,” Arsenic says, surprisingly courteous. “Do your worst.” 

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and launches himself at Arsenic, but his swinging kick—too fast for a normal person to block—goes right through Arsenic, dispelling his image like smoke. 

“I’m over here,” Arsenic informs him, and sure enough, he’s ten feet to Donghyuck’s left, leaning casually against the front desk. “You missed.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Donghyuck says, irritated. “Not this again.” 

He jumps at Arsenic again, and he manages to get one hit in before there’s a flash of light and a putrid smell fills the air. Donghyuck gets one deep breath before he’s surrounded by hazy brown fog, obscuring his vision. At the same time, the lightbulbs in the lobby flicker, making the windows the sole source of light. 

Arsenic emerges from the fog suddenly, and it’s entirely thanks to the superhuman part of Donghyuck that lets him dodge what would’ve been a fatal blow. He counterattacks, getting another hit in before Arsenic disappears with a hiss. 

Donghyuck’s lungs start to burn, screaming for air. He’s not sure if this is the hallucination gas—last time, it’d been green—but he’s not eager to test it. His vision starts to swim in the corners, and it’s hard to fight _ and _hold his breath, so he inhales just a tiny bit. To his surprise, nothing happens—it doesn’t even taste bad. 

With a start, he realizes it must be the mask. Jisung had mentioned a special fabric—it must be filtering out whatever shit is in the air. 

“Ha!” Donghyuck shouts, and blocks another punch from Arsenic with growing confidence. A swift kick to the villain’s knee lets Donghyuck advance and take advantage of his prone form—another hit to the ribs sends him sprawling. 

“How—” Arsenic starts, and Donghyuck watches in satisfaction as blood trickles out from under his sleeve. 

“I’m prepared this time,” Donghyuck informs him smugly. He’s just about to bring the handle of his gun to Arsenic’s head when there’s a loud _ bang _from behind him, and the sound of glass as one of the front windows shatter. 

Donghyuck makes the mistake of turning, which gives Arsenic the perfect opportunity to lunge for Donghyuck. The two go sprawling, and Arsenic reaches for something behind his belt just as he hits Donghyuck square in the face. Something in Donghyuck’s nose crunches, and his mouth is suddenly filled with blood. He moves the mask to spit, and gets a lungful of whatever Arsenic has released into the air. He coughs, eyes watering and nose bleeding, but it’s too late—he can already feel his vision wavering. 

“Oh no,” he groans, “not again.” Because sure enough, the gas is bright, glittering green.

“Hyuck!” Mark shouts from somewhere off to his left, and Donghyuck looks up, the whole room melting and sliding sideways as he does. He can make out a glint of silver—a butterfly? No, that can’t be right. A knife? No, it’s shoes. It’s _ Silver Slipper, _and she’s headed right towards Mark, handguns drawn. 

Donghyuck can’t see, can’t feel, can’t do much but grapple for the knife that he knows is there, _ always _there no matter what. 

And he hurls the safety knife at Silver Slipper with every ounce of strength he has left in his body. 

“I hope that hit you, stupid!” He shouts—or, he tries to. His words don’t sound real anymore, and it feels like he’s underwater. 

There’s something on his face, again and again. He can’t keep his head up, it’s so heavy, and his ribs are cracking from his chest, sprouting like trees from his lung cavity. 

He blinks, and suddenly he’s in a bamboo forest, stalks swaying peacefully in the wind. 

Somewhere, Arsenic laughs at him, echoing and disjointed. 

“I don’t even know why we named you Arsenic,” Donghyuck shouts at it, “when you’re really just like an overgrown skunk.” 

The bamboo creaks, and Donghyuck gets to his feet. All of his injuries are miraculously healed, and he takes a deep breath of air, hoping it’ll cool the itchiness in his throat and help lift the fogginess that’s settled in his head. 

“Mark?” he calls into the silent forest. 

“Hyuck,” comes the response, just as there’s a hand on his shoulder. Donghyuck whirls around, and there he is—hair slightly wet, smile out in full force. 

“Mark,” Donghyuck says again, and he lets himself tip forward, face-first into Mark’s chest. He smells as nice as he always does, and Donghyuck aches to kiss him. He runs fingertips under the hem of Mark’s shirt, backing him up until they hit something solid. Mark stares down at him, eyes half-lidded, and the light shifts. The forest is gone, and they’re standing in Donghyuck’s bedroom back in Mya’s flat. It’s snowing outside, and Mark touches Donghyuck’s cheek. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since forever,” Donghyuck breathes, the truest thing he’s said all year. “But I was terrified I’d fuck everything up.” 

“Hyuck,” Mark says, but his mouth doesn’t move. Donghyuck is proud they’ve progressed to telepathy. 

Donghyuck leans forward, heat sparking along his skin, and to his surprise, Mark leans forward to meet him. Their mouths brush once, twice, and then Mark grabs Donghyuck under the chin and _ breathes. _

Donghyuck surges backwards, trying to free himself, but Mark’s grip only tightens as he slaps a hand over Donghyuck’s nose and mouth, stopping him from exhaling. 

Donghyuck’s bedroom is swept away the next time he blinks, and it’s just him and Mark, standing in a darkened room. Mark’s got a rapidly-fading black eye and a serious expression on his face, hand pressed against Donghyuck’s face. Something must clear in Donghyuck’s eyes then, because he drops his hand and steps back. “Pull up your mask,” he says before Donghyuck can do anything. “I don’t want you slipping under again.” 

Donghyuck makes sure his nose and mouth is covered before he turns to Mark guiltily. “I’m sorry—” 

“It’s okay,” Mark says immediately, and Donghyuck swears his cheeks are pink. “I had to get the poison out of you somehow. And you were—you were hallucinating.” 

“Right,” Donghyuck replies, shifting from foot-to-foot. “That’s all—” 

“Look out!” Mark shouts, shoving Donghyuck to the side just as something cold and dark whizzes past them. “Arsenic is still out there. The police are rounding up Silver Slipper, which, nice aim. You hit her in the leg.” 

“Safety knife,” Donghyuck replies, patting Mark on the shoulder. “Besides, I couldn’t let my best friend die.” 

Mark gives him a smile that’s barely visible in the low light, but it vanishes quickly as he jerks them both to the side again as another projectile rushes past them. “Come out and fight, you bastard!” Mark shouts into the gloom. 

“You’re gonna need to explain that,” Donghyuck says. “Can you see the future?” 

“No,” Mark replies, keeping his back against the wall. “Come on.” 

They creep forward towards the doorway. “Are you trapped in a time loop? Have you seen this before?” 

“No.” Mark lunges forward, elbow cracking into the face of an armed guard that was just about to round the corner they were hidden behind. 

“You can see in the dark,” Donghyuck guesses. Mark gives him a flat look. 

“No.” 

“You have to admit, that _ would _be pretty cool,” Donghyuck says, but Mark just shushes him, pointing at a figure standing just outside the doorway. 

“Boys,” Arsenic calls, peering into the room, “I know you’re in there. I can hear you mucking about.” 

_ Mucking? _Donghyuck mouths at Mark, who shrugs. Arsenic steps into the room, heading away from them. Donghyuck holds his breath; Mark beckons at him to move. As quietly as possible, they make their way to the doorway, where Donghyuck can see the light of the lobby, glowing like a beacon. 

They’re so, so close when Mark bumps the doorframe. It’s barely any noise—hardly a rustle. But in the absolute quiet of the room they’re in, it’s enough. 

Arsenic turns towards them, and Donghyuck’s sure he’s wearing a stupid smug grin under that equally stupid mask of his. Donghyuck holds his breath, expecting another gas bomb, but Arsenic whips out a pistol instead. 

It all happens so fast that Donghyuck doesn’t even get to think anything witty. It goes something like this, if Donghyuck’s remembering correctly: 

Arsenic shoots. Donghyuck shoots back. Donghyuck’s bullet hits its mark—just to the right of Arsenic’s stupid beating heart. 

Arsenic’s bullet _ also _hits, but it doesn’t hit Donghyuck like the villain had intended—it lodges itself in Mark’s right eye socket. 

Donghyuck’s thoughts scramble, and what he says is a slip-up, an accident, something he never meant to—

* * *

Twofold finds the fallen criminal first, slumped against one of the elevators and breathing shallowly. He also finds a big long smear of blood that vanishes down the hallway, leaving nothing but a few dirty footprints from a pair of Converse. 

Twofold hauls Arsenic into the lobby. The police don’t bother checking out the elevators after that, and both the bloodstain and the footprints are swept away by the cleaning crew a few hours later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	4. interlude: deli sandwiches

The guys in the deli are a little reluctant to make Donghyuck a sandwich. Which is fair, because he’s still wearing his mask. And maybe the sword has something to do with it, too. Or is it the body armor? Or maybe the guns holstered to his chest? 

If you ask the deli guys, it’s all of the above  _ plus  _ the fact that he’s got a sort of exhausted look in his eyes, like he does this every day and he’s ready to wake up tomorrow and do it again then, too. There’s something scary, they’d say, about a man who’s accepted a routine of fighting and bloodshed. 

Or maybe they wouldn’t say that. Most people aren’t  _ that  _ well-spoken, or that focused on morality and the endless rinse-and-repeat that is life. The deli guys, in all honesty, were probably scared to give Donghyuck a sandwich because he was completely drenched in blood, and I mean absolutely  _ covered  _ in it, dried into the creases on his fingers and in his hair and staining the laces of his sneakers. (Moving a body is messy business). But there’s no explicit law that prevents a bloodstained dude from ordering a sandwich, and even if there  _ was,  _ the police (and Taeil, by extension) have more pressing matters than a masked vigilante ordering roast beef on ciabatta. Like, for example, the concerning number of prison breaks that seem to be happening, or the fact that there have been  _ so  _ many villain-superhero standoffs in the last few days that they must be setting some kind of record. Arsenic was the third this  _ month.  _

Speaking of, Donghyuck feels a little guilty about the whole fight. Mark is always doing stupid stuff like that—jumping in front of bullets, risking his life and generally acting like he’s unstoppable. Only now, Mark’s dead in the alley behind the deli, hidden under some garbage bags and a couple of blankets Donghyuck swiped from an outdoor vendor. 

The thought of Mark dead in the alley is almost enough for him to think about taking his sandwich out there to eat it, just to give Mark some company. Then he remembers that the alley stinks, and that Mark’s body (currently literally _rotting away_) also stinks. At least for right now. In about twenty minutes, if Donghyuck’s timer is right, the whole being-dead thing will reverse and Mark will start to come back alive. How long that’ll take, Donghyuck doesn’t know. Which is why he has this sandwich and a Sprite. 

The deli guys stare at him and take a couple of pictures. But they don’t do anything with them, because Donghyuck pulls knives out of various places while he’s looking for his phone, and deli guys very much like having their hands attached to them. 

So they let him sit and get to keep their hands. And Donghyuck gets to catch up on all the memes Jeno’s sent him on Instagram while they were fighting in the lobby. 


	5. an unexpected addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of being a terrible vigilante is grossly overestimating your own abilities, don’t you think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am hoarse i am rasping please enjoy this disaster chapter 
> 
> roosa i can’t give you the sun or the stars or even STARbucks bc they don’t have those near you but i can give you this vaguely shitty fic ily bro

Mark wakes around ten that night, right as Donghyuck’s about to hit play on the next episode of his TV show.

“Ah, fuck,” Mark groans, tossing back blankets and pressing a hand to his freshly-healed eye. Donghyuck turns around at the sound of his voice, catapulting himself onto his bed as Mark sits up. He’s worried, really worried—not about Mark’s physical condition, that’s whatever, but about what, exactly Mark heard right before he’d died.

“Hyuck?” Mark asks, opening and closing his eyes like he’s checking to make sure they still work. “Did I die? Again?”

“You jumped in front of a bullet,” Donghyuck says, pushing the hair off Mark’s forehead to check for lingering wounds, even if he’s sure there aren’t any. “That tends to happen to people who do that.”

“At least it was me, not you,” Mark replies, sitting back and rubbing his hands over his face.

Donghyuck’s glad Mark’s not looking at him, because his cheeks feel uncomfortably hot. “Thanks for saving me.”

Mark laughs and lifts his head. “You’re welcome. What are best friends for?”

“Usually for less dramatic stuff,” Donghyuck points out. “Like boba and video games.”

“We can still do that,” Mark says, smiling. “You sorta owe me. Again.”

“Aw man,” Donghyuck whines, “I thought we were having a moment!”

Mark laughs some more, and Donghyuck shoves him so hard he slides off the bed and skitters halfway across the room.

“Dude, watch the super-strength,” Mark says, rubbing his butt. “That hurt.”

“You deserved that,” Donghyuck informs him.

“If you’re so mad about you owing me, don’t almost-die next time,” Mark offers, like that’s something Donghyuck has control over.

“If you’re gonna be mean about it, maybe I’ll just toss your skateboard into the fountain and go without you next time,” Donghyuck rebukes.

Mark wrinkles his nose. “Not my skateboard. I’ve spent over two hundred bucks on that thing.” He stands, and his eyes widen. Donghyuck shoots to his feet, unsure if he’s about to pass out.

“Are we—are we in my bedroom? In my apartment?” Mark asks, looking around at his room like he doesn’t recognize it.

“Yes?” Donghyuck says slowly, though it sounds a bit like a question. “Should we…_not _be?”

“How’d you get in? I left my keys in my school backpack, which should still be with my skateboard at the crime scene.” When Donghyuck doesn’t say anything, Mark narrows his eyes. “Hyuck.”

Donghyuck looks at the ground sheepishly, feeling a tiny bit guilty. “Yes?”

“Please tell me you didn’t climb the fire—”

“Okay I climbed the fire escape again please don’t be mad,” Donghyuck rushes out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t drop you while you were dead this time, I promise,” he adds quickly, and peeks up at Mark’s expression.

“You promise?” Mark asks. “I mean, as funny as it is to picture, it’s also, like, not _ that _funny. It’s my body, after all.”

_ No, it’s definitely _ that _ funny, _Donghyuck thinks to himself, remembering the first time he’d done it. But it’s Mark, the only person in the world he’ll take things seriously for. So he bites back his scathing remark and his laughter, and pinky-swears. “I promise. Dead-serious.”

Mark just smiles and shakes his head, sitting back down on the bed. “And you’re all good?”

Donghyuck nods, holding out his arms for inspection. “I’m all good. I felt a little weird because of the gas, but it’s passed now.”

“The hallucination gas?” Mark asks.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, remembering what happened and looking down at his hands. He’s not sure if Mark wants to talk about it, or if he just wants to—

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Mark assures Donghyuck quickly. “It’s fine.”

—sweep it under the rug. Which, knowing Mark, is the option he’ll pick in nearly every case. Donghyuck has a whole mental file called _ Things Mark and Hyuck Don’t Have To Talk About. _He adds this particular topic to it, where it sits next to The Tattoo, The Towel Incident, Truth-Or-Dare, and That One Tuesday.

All of the aforementioned things make him shudder.

“Does Jeno know you’re here?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck is glad for the change of subject.

“Uh?” Donghyuck pauses. He didn’t even know Jeno was in the apartment. It never even crossed his mind to announce their presence.

Mark rolls his eyes and strides to the door. He’s still mostly covered in blood, however, so the scream that Jeno lets out when he sees Mark is both expected and hilarious.

“What in the _ fuck _ have you been doing?” Jeno demands, and Donghyuck peeks over Mark’s shoulder to wave. Jeno’s expression only heats. “DONGHYUCK? What the _ hell, _ you two! You disappeared for _ hours _and all I get is notifs that Donghyuck was liking posts I sent him on Instagram!”

Both Mark and Donghyuck wince. “We told Jaemin?” Donghyuck offers, but that doesn’t seem to make it any better.

“Jaemin is way too calm about the whole vigilante thing,” Jeno fumes. “He sees a text saying, _ oh, Mark’s dead don’t worry, _ and thinks, _ yeah that’s fine.” _

Donghyuck shrugs. “Yeah, he’s good like that. I can trust Jaemin to not overreact. _ Renjun, _on the other hand—”

“Renjun is the most rational person in our whole friend group,” Jeno interrupts, “and Jaemin is _ not.”_

“I did die, though, in case you were wondering,” Mark adds lightly, like he’s talking about the weather.

“Yeah, and it was stinky,” Donghyuck says. “I bought you a sandwich, though, from that deli you like. It’s in the fridge.”

Jeno looks back and forth between the two of them in disbelief. Donghyuck has his chin propped on Mark’s shoulder, who’s covered in blood and talking about how he died.

Honestly? Donghyuck’s had weirder Friday nights.

Jeno sits back on the couch. “Whatever. You two deserve each other, really.”

Both Mark and Donghyuck jerk back at that, sputtering and embarrassed. Donghyuck’s face is hot again; Mark’s cheeks are a similar shade of pink. It doesn’t take best friend telepathy to know they’re thinking about the Not-Kiss (decisively a Not-Kiss, since it was closer to CPR! Never mind the hallucination! Which is what it was! Not a fantasy borne from Donghyuck’s deepest, most tender desires! Nope!) and then the whole Mark taking-a-bullet-for-him thing, which is pretty romantic on its own. Not that Donghyuck thinks it’s romantic, because it wasn’t. Isn’t.

God, he’s a mess. Mark Lee has taken every single rational part of him (not that there were many to begin with) and tied it into a huge, sappy knot.

_ Love makes fools of us all, _Donghyuck thinks wisely as he watches Mark vehemently defend himself to Jeno, who listens with an unimpressed expression.

“—and I know you’d do the same for Jaemin,” Mark finishes. “Now Hyuck and I are going to shower.” Jeno’s eyebrows shoot up, and Mark’s face turns pink as he realizes what he’d said. “I _ mean, _I’m going to shower, and then after that, Hyuck will shower.”

“And then I’ll buy you takeout as a thank-you,” Donghyuck finishes, and Mark lets out a relieved breath as the awkwardness in the air lifts. “Jeno, you want anything?”

“Kung pao chicken,” Jeno says, “to make up for…whatever I just witnessed.”

Donghyuck salutes. “On it. I betcha it’ll be faster if I just run there, rather than having to wait for delivery.”

“Nah, just stay,” Mark says. “We can watch a movie or something.”

“Alright,” Donghyuck replies, because that’s all the convincing he needs. He can _ feel _Jeno’s knowing look boring into the back of his head, but he ignores him. “Sounds good to me.”

Mark gives him a small smile, and Donghyuck’s heart comes dangerously close to combusting.

So they sit down, they watch the movie, and Donghyuck tries to pretend that he’s not hyper-focused on the warmth that comes from Mark’s body.

* * *

The weekend is, much to everyone’s surprise, very relaxing. Mark spends most of it lying around, and by extension, Donghyuck does too. They do homework at Jaemin’s house for a little bit of it, but for the most part, Mark and Jeno play round after round of _ Smash _while Donghyuck dissects the guns Mark had stolen for him. Twofold stops another potential hostage crisis Saturday night, and Jeno’s computer hums as it methodically traces the tracker in the chest plate.

Donghyuck meets up with Mark Sunday afternoon to get lunch, and things kick back into gear. September is starting to fade into October, and the air is gradually cooling as the trees start to shift in color. The wind stirs Donghyuck’s hair as he crosses the street with milk tea for both of them, slightly chilly. It’s nice, though. He likes fall. More clothing means better weapon concealment. Carrying around the safety knife in summer was always an interesting challenge.

“Hey,” Mark greets when Donghyuck’s close enough, pulling out a headphone and smiling. He’s wearing his hat backwards, and if Donghyuck wasn’t so disgustingly in love with him he’d knock it straight off of Mark’s head. He and Renjun went back to the office building yesterday to get Mark’s backpack and skateboard, the latter of which is tucked beneath Mark’s arm.

Mark shakes a paper bag at Donghyuck. “Got burgers and fries.”

“Perfect,” Donghyuck says, and they set off together the skate park. He can see a few of Mark’s friends in the distance, goofing off and generally looking cool. But Mark only waves at them before leading Donghyuck up the hill past the skate park.

“Man, it’s so nice out,” Mark says, tossing his stuff on the ground and flopping down next to it. “Especially since we haven’t had to fight anyone in so long.”

“Two days,” Donghyuck says, rummaging around in the burger bag. “Not _ that _long.”

Mark rolls onto his back. “Don’t say you’re bored.”

“I’m bored.”

Mark kicks Donghyuck in the knee, and Donghyuck has to stop himself from elbowing him back. Superpowers and all that, blah blah blah. Roughhousing isn’t something Donghyuck does, anyway. Or at least, not the friendly kind. With Mya, roughhousing was designed to injure. Badly.

He pushes that particular memory away and refocuses. He lost track of what he was talking about—school or something, maybe Stats. Mark is paying attention in that quiet way of his, eyes half-closed and face tilted towards the sun. When they’re around their friends, or fighting villains, Donghyuck forgets that Mark’s actually a pretty reserved person. Parties, strangers, all of that—it’s never really been his thing, at least not in the way it’s Jaemin’s thing.

“Nice day,” Mark comments when the conversation lulls, taking a sip of his drink. “I can’t believe that summer is almost over.”

“It’s been over since the beginning of September,” Donghyuck teases, even though he knows what Mark means. The air is sharper, colder, and it feels like change. Change bigger than Donghyuck would like, maybe.

“Can’t believe we were throwing pyrotechnists into the water just a few months ago,” Donghyuck says, smiling at the memory. “Can’t believe your eyebrows grew back so fast.”

Mark laughs. “You were so upset when they torched that hoodie.”

“I paid sixty bucks for that thing,” Donghyuck bemoans, mouth full of burger. “I bought it with the money that old lady gave us when we helped get her cat off the roof.”

“So that’s where that went,” Mark says, sitting up and snatching the french fries out of Donghyuck’s hand. “I thought you said you replaced my headphones with that money.”

“No, pretty sure I stole those,” Donghyuck replies casually. Mark’s eyes widen, and he grabs at the headphones looped around his neck.

“These?”

“The Apple store needs better security,” Donghyuck remarks, wiping his fingers on his pants. “Seriously. I walked in and walked out.”

Mark just closes his eyes. “You’re nuts,” he says, but it’s more of a statement of fact than anything else. It’s been established that Donghyuck has no regard for any sort of law or its enforcers—or generally any system of government, safety, or morals.

Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s too late to return them,” he points out, and Mark stares at him for a moment, unable to argue with that logic despite knowing it’s so very skewed.

Donghyuck reaches for his milk tea just as both his and Mark’s phone _ explode _with texts.

“I swear, if it’s Jaemin talking about his shoes,” Donghyuck mutters darkly, but all the notifications are from Jeno.

_ COMPUTER FINISHED WITH TRACKER! _ The first reads. The second says _ everyone come quick you’re going to want to see this. _ The next seven just say _ faster, dumbasses. _

“I’m gonna guess and say this is pretty important,” Mark says, scrolling through the group chat even as more texts flood in. “I’ve never seen Jeno use all-caps ever.”

“Except when he was talking about—“

“_Game of Thrones,” _Mark finishes with Donghyuck. “Yeah, I know.”

Another buzz—this time, it’s Jaemin, who’s sent a long string of emojis. Mostly just the running man, but there are a few heart-eye ones and bizarrely, a pig.

“Jaemin’s a little stoned,” Mark deduces, looking at the text. “Or he’s already there and he knows what’s going on.”

“I’d go with stoned,” Donghyuck says. “It’s Sunday afternoon, and he had a bad date last night.”

“Yikes,” Mark says, wincing sympathetically. The wind picks up again, and Donghyuck looks out over the water, where he can see the campus quad and its flagpole, glinting silver against the blue sky.

“Oh, right,” Mark says. “I meant to ask—what did you say when I jumped in front of that bullet?”

Donghyuck’s heart picks up speed, and his hands begin to sweat a little. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully. _ Please don’t say you heard, _Donghyuck begs internally.

Mark starts to collect his stuff, a little too slowly to be entirely casual. Donghyuck swallows, his throat dry.

“I mean, you said something,” Mark repeats. “I didn’t hear it because I was, y’know, dying.”

Their eyes meet, and Mark’s expression is curiously unreadable. Donghyuck doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. The truth? A lie?

So he opts for neither.

“What were _ you _ going to tell _ me, _then?” Donghyuck shoots back, and Mark’s eyebrows raise. “When you said I’d fucked up, somehow? And then when you were predicting the future and hitting all those guards?”

“It’s not—I didn’t—” Mark stumbles, face heating. Donghyuck can’t help the smug feeling that settles over him, watching Mark flounder. It’s not everyday that he can knock Mark off-balance. Only with prolonged physical contact or overly-direct confrontation can he get Mark this flustered.

“It’s not important,” Mark says after a minute. He seems like he’s going to say something else, but decides against it. He goes back to picking up his stuff. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes. Fine. Two can play this game. “It’s not important,” he parrots, a little more sarcastic than necessary.

Mark quails a bit, but there’s a silent _ touche _that Donghyuck reads in the set of his shoulders. He can’t decide if he feels victorious and vindicated or just irritated. Maybe both. Maybe he’ll just categorize it as another weird itchy feeling. He gets a lot of those. Renjun says it’s because of his unhealthy emotional expression techniques. Donghyuck thinks it’s because life, generally speaking, is weird and itchy itself.

It takes a few minutes of silent, nearly-unbearable walking before his and Mark’s conversation picks up again, mostly because Renjun is _ also _telling them to hurry up.

_ Why can’t you just tell us over text? _

_ Too lazy, _Jaemin says.

_ Too many details, _Renjun adds.

_ For drama, _Jeno finishes, and Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Do you see this? Why are we friends with these people?”

Mark shrugs. “You’re part of ‘these people’ too, Hyuck. You’re a trained killing machine, remember?”

“Hey,” Donghyuck says, frowning, “I’ll have you know that the whole trained-killing-machine dialogue is very harmful—”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Mark interrupts, holding up his hands. “You know what I mean, though.”

“Yeah, I do,” Donghyuck replies. “I get you.”

Donghyuck smiles at Mark. Mark smiles at Donghyuck. It’s very romantic until a bird flies overhead and shits down the back of Mark’s jacket.

Mark looks up at the bird and then back down at his jacket. “Are you kidding me?” he asks.

Donghyuck purses his lips. “I could jump and kill—”

“We’re not gonna kill the bird,” Mark says, though he looks well and truly miserable as he strips off his jacket. “That’s—this is shit.”

“Literally,” Donghyuck says, and Mark looks at him for a long moment before they both burst into laughter at the same time. People passing on the sidewalk give them looks halfway between amusement and confusion.

“It’s like the universe hates us,” Mark says, rubbing his cheek.

“We were having a moment,” Donghyuck agrees. “Oh, fuck, Jeno’s calling me. Hold up.”

He hits accept, and immediately all three of his friends start shouting at him.

“We’re coming right now,” Donghyuck interjects, holding the phone away from his face so he doesn’t go deaf. “Mark just got bird shit all over him.”

“Mark just _ shit?”_ Jeno yells, confused. “What?”

“No, a _ bird _shit,” Donghyuck clarifies.

“You gotta get here right now,” Jaemin says, ignoring them both. “It’s about Jisung, that little shithead—”

“Jaemin, it’s pointless to get angry with him,” Renjun cuts in, “since we don’t know the whole story.”

“I knew I should’ve hit him with that bottle—”

“That’s expensive olive oil,” Renjun says, “and your mom will _ definitely _know—”

“Just get over here,” Jeno shouts over the noise. “Quick!”

_ Hang up, _Mark mouths, gesturing wildly. Donghyuck taps the screen and the noise thankfully cuts off.

“Okay, so we should probably go,” Donghyuck says, pocketing his phone. Mark is still holding his poop-covered jacket. “What’s the fastest way to get there? Taxi?”

“I’ve got a way,” Mark promises. “Text Jeno and tell him we’ll be there in fifteen.”

* * *

“When you said fifteen,” Jeno says when they arrive at Jaemin’s house, “I didn’t know you meant fifteen_ years_.”

“We took the bus,” Donghyuck justifies. “The schedule says arrivals every four minutes,but it really means four years.”

“Yeah, we definitely would’ve run here faster,” Mark says, pulling his stained jacket out his backpack. “Jaemin, I’m gonna throw this in your washer.”

“Go ahead,” Jaemin says from where he’s sitting on the couch, very calmly scrolling through his phone. Donghyuck gives him a confused look, which Renjun catches.

“He smoked some more,” Renjun says, “because we invited Jisung back over.”

“You _ what,_” Donghyuck half-shouts. “Why the hell—”

“Because the tracker’s linked to Macroshot,” Jeno explains, beckoning Donghyuck over to the massive desk of computers Jaemin has set up. “You know, the tech company?”

“Don’t they do computer software?” Mark asks, brow furrowing.

“Yeah, and security software, alarm systems, virus protection, you name it,” Jeno lists, sitting down in the chair. “They also own the company that does the majority of the GPS tracking and mapping.”

Jaemin laughs from the couch. “Ha, ha. The government’s tracking you.”

“So you’re saying that kid is working for _ Macroshot? _” Donghyuck asks, scoffing. “Seems unlikely.”

“I don’t know,” Mark says, eyes on the computer. “He did say he was a courier.”

“A thief,” Jaemin protests. “He’s a thief.”

“That didn’t steal anything,” Renjun reminds him.

The doorbell rings. “Look, that’s probably him,” Renjun adds. “Do thieves ring the doorbell?”

“Nice ones do,” Jaemin says, going back to his phone. “He seemed nice.”

Mark looks between Jaemin and Renjun like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Mark, come to the door with me,” Donghyuck says, grabbing Mark by the elbow. “We’ll bring Jisung down here.”

“Don’t tell him anything until we’re all here,” Jeno says. “Okay?”

Donghyuck agrees, and then immediately forgets about that when he opens the door and grabs Jisung by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the wall.

“Hyuck,” Mark says, startled. “Jesus—”

Donghyuck ignores him. Jisung’s face has drained of all color, but he doesn’t look scared. Just surprised.

“Do you work for Macroshot?” Donghyuck asks quietly, leaning in close. “Did they send you here, hm?”

“No,” Jisung says, shaking his head vehemently. “I don’t—I was sent here by an individual person.”

“So you know nothing about the trackers?” Donghyuck asks, gripping Jisung tighter, and _ there’s _the pale-faced look of terror Donghyuck was looking for.

“The—the trackers?” Jisung stutters. “What trackers?”

Donghyuck looks over at Mark, unsure if he should believe Jisung. Mark squints at him for a moment before he nods, and Donghyuck releases him. Jisung drops to the ground on shaky knees, smoothing out the front of his shirt. He glares at Donghyuck balefully. “That was unnecessary and dramatic,” Jisung says grumpily. “I would’ve told you that if you’d just asked.”

“Yeah, but it’s way more fun to do that,” Donghyuck says. “Since I’m technically one of the good guys, I can’t go around being mean and scary to people anymore.”

“_Good guys?”_ Jisung asks, and Donghyuck makes an offended noise, ready to kick Jisung’s ass.

“_Anymore?” _Mark chimes in, dubious. Donghyuck whirls on him instantly, murderous. “Sorry,” Mark says quickly. “But I’m just saying.”

“Fuck you guys,” Donghyuck mutters. “Jeno’ll explain, Jisung. Hell, if you’re wearing anything from your…supplier, it’s probably bugged too.”

Jisung’s ears go a little red. “It shouldn’t be. I make a lot of effort to stay off the grid.”

“In _ this _ society?” Donghyuck scoffs, sarcastic. “_Sure."_

Jisung’s ears get redder, and he stomps off towards the basement. Donghyuck follows, trying to rid himself of the aggressive energy that’s quickly building up in his muscles. _ Deep breaths, _ he tells himself. _ No need to get homicidal. _

He does a couple laps around Jaemin’s massive kitchen while Mark hovers uncertainly in the doorway.

“Are you really that mad?” Mark asks, and it’s only a little doubtful.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck mumbles. “Sorry. It’s just—you know. This is how it is.”

“Yep,” Mark says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I get you.”

They lapse into awkward silence again, but this time, Donghyuck doesn’t try to force them out of it. Instead, he makes one more lap around the island counters before rejoining Mark, already feeling better. They head downstairs together, and are met (once again) with the lovely sound of their friends shouting.

And what a sight they are: Jisung’s standing on the desk with his shirt off, yelling madly, while Renjun alternates between placating him and egging him on. Jeno’s typing frantically, shouting back, and Jaemin’s in hysterics, laughing so hard he’s dislodged a couch cushion.

“THEY BUGGED ME!” Jisung shouts, hurling the shirt away from him.

“It probably wasn’t activated,” Renjun consoles, holding his hands up in a soothing manner.

“It was activated,” Jeno confirms, squinting at the computer screen. 

“Just kidding,” Renjun says. “It was activated. They knew your every location and movement. You’re not off the grid. You’re very much on it.”

“Not helping,” Mark says over the cacophony as Jisung jumps off the desk and starts storming around angrily.

Jaemin rolls off the couch, laughing soundlessly. Tears squeeze from the corners of his eyes. He looks absolutely deranged.

“Jaemin, you look like a psychopath,” Donghyuck tells him, but this makes Jaemin laugh even harder, which in turn makes Donghyuck join in, holding his chest.

“Whoa, okay,” Mark says, looking very overwhelmed. “I have a question, though.” He pauses. “_Why?” _

The noise in the room abruptly stops. Jaemin finally catches his breath enough to get onto his hands and knees.

“Think about it,” Mark says. “We’re a group of _ college kids. _Hyuck and I aren’t even big-name superheroes. The police have left us alone, pretty much.”

“That’s…a really good question,” Renjun says, eyebrows raising. “This whole thing really _ does _make no sense.”

“I know a way we can make it make sense,” Jeno interrupts, grinning victoriously.

Donghyuck takes a moment to process that sentence, and Jeno turns his laptop so everyone can see. It’s a picture of two men in suits, one of which is holding a fancy-looking award.

“This is Kun Qian,” he says, pointing to the one with the award. “He used to head security operations at Macroshot.”

“Yeah, _ used to,_” Jisung says, crossing his arms. “What good is he if he doesn’t work there anymore?”

“Because he quit _ last week,_” Jeno says, clearly getting excited. “He can tell us what we want to know.”

“Yeah, if we can find him,” Jaemin points out, now kneeling on the carpet. “He’s probably got like, automatic sentry turrets in his house.” He cracks up again. Jeno gives him an unimpressed look.

“Hyuck? You okay?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck, who’d been staring at the _ other _man with a growing feeling of unease, finally unfreezes.

“I know where we can find Kun Qian,” Donghyuck says reluctantly, nodding at the second man. “I just _ happen _ to know his boyfriend.” His skin prickles uncomfortably, and his stomach twists. He had not, under any circumstances, planned on revealing _ that _ bit of information. Nor had Donghyuck planned on contacting _ him _ever again. 

His friends stare at him, their expressions a combination of surprise, curiosity, and confusion.

“What?” Renjun finally asks, dumbfounded.

“That’s Ten,” Donghyuck sighs, eyes flickering over to Mark, who’s clearly starting to put the pieces together. “He’s the one who brought Mark back to life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	6. nosebleeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The number of serious, Actual Problems that Donghyuck has to solve starts to increase. In other news, Mark Lee's smile has made it to the top of the list of things that make Donghyuck homicidal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! sorry for the rather...long gap between chapters; i've just started school again and i'm also doing 13497347 fic fests (or at least it feels like that) but i'm glad i was able to get this out! 
> 
> this is for [lil](https://twitter.com/baridalive)....as promised. i hope you love it i put my soul into it for you ily bb
> 
> and for [roosa](https://twitter.com/pikkuhyuck), because as always, you're a gift and i love you so much. thank you for everything you've done and continue to do. 
> 
> i think that about covers it, so without further ado, please enjoy some nosebleeds!

Everyone waits as Donghyuck scrolls through his notes, looking for Ten’s address. 

“So, uh, I’m guessing Mark didn’t know about Ten?” Renjun asks, breaking the stifling silence that has followed Donghyuck’s announcement. 

Donghyuck pretends not to hear, though he can feel his cheeks getting hot. He can feel Mark’s eyes on the back of his neck, burning a hole through his skin. 

“Hyuck,” Jeno prompts.

Donghyuck continues to play deaf. It’s a lot easier than having to look them in the face and provide an explanation that is both a) logical and b) reasonable. Unfortunately, Donghyuck is _ neither _ of those things on a good day—and the day Mark was resurrected on was _ terrible. _ So his reasoning for keeping the whole Ten thing a secret makes no sense whatsoever, and his friends are going to call him out on it. And Donghyuck _ hates _ being wrong almost as much as he _ hates _being told off by his friends. 

“No, I didn’t know,” Mark answers, and Donghyuck winces. “Which is sort of weird, if you think about it.” His tone is stinging, sarcastic. Donghyuck tamps down the guilt and the anger. Isn’t Mark being a little _ unfair? Surely _ he can see where Donghyuck is coming from, what he was thinking—

Donghyuck then remembers that he hasn’t actually _ told _ Mark anything, and _ oh, _ that’s why he’s angry. Because he doesn’t _ know_, not because he doesn’t _ understand_. 

“I just don’t understand,” Mark says. 

_ Never mind, _Donghyuck thinks bitterly. He finds Ten’s address, continues to ignore Mark, and gestures to the rest of them. “Come on,” he says. “It’s not far from here.” 

They pile into Jaemin’s mom’s minivan, which she never uses because she’s always at work. Donghyuck threatens to knock Jeno’s teeth in if he has to sit next to Mark. Jeno, who quite likes his teeth, gives Donghyuck shotgun. 

“You’re being so weird about this,” Jeno tells Donghyuck on his way to the backseat. “What’s so bad about Mark knowing who brought him back to life? Personally, I’d _ love _to know a necromancer.” 

_ Because then Mark knows who fucked him up, _ Donghyuck thinks miserably, _ and it’s much easier for him to hate someone he doesn’t know. _ Donghyuck has seen Mark hate something—80s disco music, _ Game of Thrones, _ oatmeal—and knows that he dedicates himself to it, body and soul. Having Mark think that it was Donghyuck that messed up _ directly _ is much easier (and kinder on his conscience-slash-ego) than having him know the truth: that Donghyuck made a bad call not once but _ twice, _ which _ indirectly _led to Mark’s life being irreversibly changed forever. 

It also means having to admit to his desperation—the sheer, overwhelming _ emotion, _yuck—that drove him to Ten’s doorstep early in the morning. Which then means having to admit his love for his best friend, which will then force Mark away from him, which will then mean he’ll have to throw himself from the top of a—

“Donghyuck, we’re here,” Jaemin says, tapping him on the shoulder. Donghyuck jumps, tenses, realizes he doesn’t have to karate-chop anyone (he’s got a safety gun _ and _a safety knife, just in case) and pulls himself from his dramatic, panic-ridden mind-spiral. 

“Oh, fantastic,” Donghyuck mutters dryly, flinging open the car door so hard it makes a concerning crunching noise. 

“Hey, watch the super-strength,” Jaemin scolds, and Donghyuck scowls, tucking his hands into his pockets. He can feel everyone looking at him, their stares ranging from confused (Jisung) all the way to quietly betrayed (Mark, and that one _ hurts_). 

“You’re telling me a necromancer lives here?” Renjun asks, looking up. The building in question is one of those old apartment buildings, the kind where it’s always dark in the lobby and the elevator groans when you go up it. It’s rundown, a bit janky, and in a weird neighborhood—it looks like somewhere where _ Mark _would live, not a ex-gang member-slash-necromancer. 

“Yep,” Donghyuck says. He glances over at Mark, who is still pretending like Donghyuck doesn’t exist. There’s a small frown on his face, and Donghyuck can tell he’s still struggling to put the pieces together. 

“What are we waiting for?” Mark asks, and steps off the curb, eyes still fixed on the apartment. A car comes barreling down the street, too fast, and it’s thanks to Mya’s training that Donghyuck is able to grab the back of Mark’s shirt in time, pulling him out of the street. The car speeds by, honking loudly, and Renjun and Jisung erupt into shouting, swearing and yelling. 

Mark looks down at Donghyuck’s hand where it’s fisted in his shirt. 

“Be careful,” Donghyuck whispers, mouth incredibly dry. “You could get hurt.” 

“I heal fast,” Mark says cooly, and Donghyuck can feel the hurt coming off of him in waves. “You made sure of that when you brought me back to life.” 

“Mark—” Donghyuck tries, hating the widening gap between them. 

“Let’s just to see this guy,” Mark interrupts, shaking Donghyuck’s hand off.

This time, though, he looks both ways before he crosses the street. 

* * *

Ten, to say the least, is a little disgruntled when he finds out it’s Donghyuck knocking on his door and calling his name. 

“Donghyuck,” Ten says tartly, voice muffled by the door, “I swear to _ god, _if that kid’s dead again, I’m going to—” 

The door opens, and Ten’s eyes widen when he sees that there’s _ six _ of them. His eyes widen even further when he notices Mark, standing next to Donghyuck, hands clenched at his sides. “Wait a second,” Ten says, frowning at Mark, “you’re _ not _dead? Then why are you here? Why are there so many of you?” He directs the last part of the question towards Donghyuck, who is just about to reply when Mark jumps in. 

“You brought me back to life?” he asks Ten, whose attention snaps back to him. 

“Twice,” Ten confirms, leaning against the doorframe casually. “Well…you were here twice. I didn’t know about the whole self-resurrection thing when Donghyuck brought you here the second time.” 

Mark’s expression is neutral—which is what cues Donghyuck in to how angry he is. Mark is an open book; Donghyuck has always been able to read him to some degree, even when he’s being an emotionally constipated brat and won’t say anything. So to see his face this blank, this controlled—Donghyuck has fucked up beyond measure, and now Mark is_ mad _mad. 

“Did you know you messed it up?” Mark asks, voice scary calm. Their other friends are starting to realize what’s happening, because Jeno puts a reassuring hand on Mark’s shoulder and Renjun shifts forward, like he’s worried Mark will try to make a break for it. 

“Well,” Ten says, still nonchalant, like he either can’t sense Mark’s anger or just doesn’t care. “There’s always complications. You know how it goes.” 

“No,” Mark says, “I don’t.” 

Donghyuck knows what he’s going to do a split-second before actually does it—and there is no amount of super-speed that can stop Mark from lunging at Ten and driving a fist into Ten’s face. 

“MARK!” Jeno shouts, alarmed, but he grabs empty air as both Ten and Mark go stumbling backwards. Renjun looks like he’s about to dive head-first into the fight, either to help or to separate them, Donghyuck isn’t sure, but it’s Jisung, ironically, that keeps a clear head and shouts Donghyuck’s name. 

“Do something!” He yelps, and that spurs Donghyuck into motion. He catches Mark around the waist before he can hit Ten again, pulling him away. Mark struggles against his grip, shouting incomprehensibly, and one of his elbows catches Donghyuck in the solar plexus, which startles him more than it hurts. He lets go, and Mark whirls on him in an instant, eyes shiny with hurt and mouth twisted with the force of his anger. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he shouts. “I’ve got—my whole brain is _ fucked, _and you didn’t even try to explain—” 

“Okay, just calm down,” Donghyuck says, desperate. “It’s fine.” 

Mark goes still for a moment. Donghyuck thinks he’s fixed something until Mark tries to hit him, and that’s when Donghyuck realizes that it was completely the wrong thing to say, and he’s made it a hundred times worse and maybe he really should just throw himself— 

Mark takes another swing at Donghyuck. It comes at him in slow-motion, and Donghyuck knows he could block it, could grab Mark around the wrist, could break his arm and knock him out cold, could retaliate, could shatter and fracture and twist and _ hurt— _

But he doesn’t, because hurting Mark is the last thing he wants to do, ever.

There’s a thing Mya used to say, when Donghyuck used to throw tantrums and break everything in sight, lashing out at Mya with fists and feet. She’d let him smash as much as he wanted, had dodged his blows, and had never raised a hand in retaliation, weathering the storm of his frustration with infinite patience.

_ If you love them, Hyuckie, _ she’d said, _ never hit back. It will break your soul. _

Mark’s fist hits Donghyuck square in the cheek, hard enough to bruise. Donghyuck’s head snaps back and his mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood. He touches his nose and his fingertips come away red. 

The world grinds to a halt, the room utterly quiet as everyone watches Donghyuck’s nose drip down his chin and stain his shirt collar. 

Something in Mark’s expression crumples, and he storms back out of Ten’s apartment, the door banging against the wall. Ten gingerly touches his face, wincing slightly. 

Donghyuck stares at the space Mark occupied a second ago, heart aching. He wants to give Mark his space, but every single part of him is screaming _ go get him! _Mark isn’t confrontational, and he’s prone to stewing in his feelings—and this whole thing is also entirely Donghyuck’s fault. If he wants Mark back, he’s gotta bite the bullet and go talk to him. 

He owes Mark the truth, and maybe a little bit more, too. 

His guilt nearly chokes him—or maybe that’s the torrent of blood flooding his sinuses and running down his throat. 

“I’m going to get him,” Donghyuck mutters, straightening and wiping his upper lip. His jacket comes away bloodstained, but this is why people invented stain-remover, Donghyuck thinks. For kids who fuck up and hit each other too hard. 

“Hyuck, uh,” Jeno jumps in, breaking the stunned silence that’s fallen over them, “are you okay?” 

“No,” Donghyuck says, but before any of them can ask any more questions or try to stop him, he jogs through the open door and down the hallway, following Mark to the roof. 

“What the hell,” Jisung breathes. Ten grimaces, and Renjun coughs awkwardly. None of them know what to say, much less _ do. _ Do they go after Mark and Donghyuck and risk their lives? Do they stay here and _ also _risk their lives? Goddamn, there’s a lot of risking lives when you’re part of a superhero support squad. Maybe a little too much. 

“Nice house,” Jaemin says at last, still mildly stoned. “Your carpet is very clean.” 

Ten looks at him in disbelief for a long second before he snorts, rolling his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he tells the three of them, “or I’d kick you out in a heartbeat.” 

“Hey, it’s not us causing the trouble,” Renjun points out, and Ten shrugs, conceding the point. 

“Why _ are _you here?” he asks Renjun. “Not to see me, I assume, since nobody’s dead or leaking strange fluids, so—” 

“TEN!” Someone yells from down the hall, sounding slightly strangled. There’s a few pounding footsteps, and then Kun Qian appears in the doorway, wearing joggers and glasses, sweat beading on his forehead. He’s holding a brown paper bag, and when he skids to a halt, several bell peppers go tumbling to the ground. His eyes widen when he sees the three strange kids standing in his kitchen next to his boyfriend, who appears to have a developing black eye. 

“What the hell is going on here?” he demands, striding into the kitchen. He has half a mind to drop the groceries and go straight to Ten, but then he remembers he has twenty dollars’ worth of kombucha in there, and doesn’t want any bottles to break. So he sets the bag down gently and _ then _ goes to stand in front of Ten, who rolls his eyes but lets Kun be unreasonable anyway. “Who are these kids? Why is your face smashed up? _ Why is there blood on the carpet? _ ” The last question comes out at a shout, because he’d _ just _shampooed the carpet earlier this week to get a previous bloodstain out. Honestly, with all the grisly work both he and Ten do, it’s probably more economically feasible to tear the carpet out and put in some nice tile instead. 

Jeno rummages around in his backpack while Renjun launches into a very calm explanation of who they are and what they’re doing here. Jaemin and Jisung chime in with additions and details, which aren’t helpful in the slightest, but they’re funny, so Renjun lets it slide. What’s the most interesting to Kun is the chestplate Jeno holds up, the backing stripped back to the core to reveal a slot and a tiny chip that Jeno offers to Kun. 

“We got these chestplates from someone a week or so ago,” Renjun explains. “Jeno ran a program that traced the software back to the company you used to work for. Neither of them were activated, but they certainly weren’t broken. We want to know why.” 

Jaemin nods along and tries to shake off the last of the marijuana cloud over his brain. He gets the feeling this will be very important and not at all the time for stoned giggling. 

“They’re Macroshot tech,” Kun explains. “I sent them, and I completely forgot that there were trackers in there. They were intended for the two of you that run around and get shot at.” He pauses here, and frowns. “I assume those two are the ones we’re missing. None of you have powers.” 

“How do you know?” Renjun asks, crossing his arms. “Maybe we _ do.” _

“I’d feel it if you did.” Kun focuses for a half-second, doing a double-check. All he can sense is Ten’s energy, slow-moving and dark. “That’s sort of my thing. Sense and suppress.” 

“Suppress?” Jisung asks cautiously. “Sounds…ominous.” 

“It’s really not,” Kun assures him. “It just means that abilities don’t work around me.” He looks over at Ten, who’s been remarkably quiet this whole time. Usually he reacts to situations like this with more…_ personality, _rather than nursing a black eye silently. “Ten, I still don’t know what happened to your face.” 

“Well, there were two other guys with us,” Jeno says, tapping on the chestplate. “They’re the ones you sent the armor to.” 

“Oh,” Kun says, several pieces clicking. “Did…one of them hurt Ten?” 

“Uh,” Jaemin says, which Kun takes as a yes. 

“It’s complicated?” Jisung tries, wincing when Kun gives him a deadpan look. 

“I deserved it,” Ten finally chimes in, sullen. “I was being a dick. I’m just mad that a college kid managed to hit me.” 

“Aw, baby,” Kun says, and Renjun makes a disgusted face as he leans in, tilting Ten’s chin up so he can see the bruise in the light. “It’s not bad, trust me. It’ll be gone in a few days. Does it hurt?” 

Ten sticks his lower lip out. “A little.” 

“This was the worst idea we’ve ever had,” Jeno mutters, leaning in to whisper in Jaemin’s ear. Jaemin nods in agreement. “I can’t believe Kun Qian is in _ love _with the guy what resurrected Mark from the dead.” 

“And also fucked him up, somehow,” Renjun adds. “Don’t forget that fun detail.” 

Kun seems to remember that there are four lost-looking kids in his kitchen, holding a chestplate that he illegally sent them. He pulls away from Ten, keeping an arm around his waist. He nods at Jeno. “I’ll give you a blocker for the trackers,” Kun tells them. “Even if you guys are just running around and stopping drug deals, I still don’t like the idea of Macroshot being able to track you.” 

“What’s the deal with them anyway?” Renjun asks, eyes narrowing. Kun never said he quit—so Renjun’s assuming he was fired. He’s also living in a shitty apartment despite making a shitload of money for the last five years he worked at Macroshot. Something feels a little weird about the whole situation. “Why put trackers at all?” 

Kun sighs, exchanging a glance with Ten. 

_ They’re just kids, _ Ten’s glare seems to say. _ This is way bigger than them. _

_ This isn’t just about us anymore, _Kun argues back, and when Ten can’t find anything to refute that, Kun purses his lips and detaches from his boyfriend. Gesturing to the four of them, he makes his way down the hall towards a closed door at the end of the hallway, stopping for a second. 

“This is really important stuff,” Kun emphasizes. “I’m only showing you because you because I think there’s something bigger at work here, and that you may be involved.” 

The four of them exchange an uneasy look. _ Something bigger at work _sounds serious, like trouble. Like something that both Mark and Donghyuck will jump headfirst into and drag everyone with them. 

Kun opens the door to the room, and four sets of eyes widen. The space is clean and white and stuffed full with what looks like two hundred computers doing two thousand different things all at once. 

Jaemin takes a hesitant step into the room, like he’s unsure it actually exists. “You…this is yours?” He squints at a screen, which shows a live feed of the outside of the apartment. A little notification has popped up with a picture of Jaemin’s license plate, informing them that it’s an unfamiliar number, would you like to run a background check? 

“This is so fucking _ weird, _” Renjun says, Jisung and Jeno crowding in behind them. “But also kind of awesome.” 

Jisung fidgets nervously. He doesn’t like the idea of being _ watched, _likes it even less than the idea that he’s actually been watched this whole time, even in his supposedly off-the-grid set up at the foster center. 

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Kun says. “Before I…left Macroshot, there was very little in this city that I couldn’t find out about. And I still like to keep an eye on things, especially with what’s been going on.” 

“Which is?” 

“Arsenic, the crime rate spike, the odd rumor and such,” Ten supplies, flopping down in the chair at the massive desk. “You want to tell them why those bastards fired you?” 

_ Those bastards, _Renjun assumes, means Macroshot. 

“Well, I was sort of asking for it, sticking my nose in places where it didn’t belong,” Kun says, scratching the back of his neck. He looks slightly uncomfortable as he continues, and Ten leans forward, an intense look in his eyes. “But…for the last three months, Macroshot has been sending prototypes to the same address.” 

“That doesn’t seem _ that _shady,” Jaemin rationalizes, but Jeno’s brow is furrowed in concentration. 

“Well, they were _ my _prototypes,” Kun continues. “Those chestplates, some non-lethal weaponry, micro-cameras, that sort of stuff. Nobody outside of Macroshot was supposed to have any access to them.” 

“But clearly someone did,” Jeno surmises, and Kun nods. “Who?” 

“That’s what I wanted to find out,” Kun sighs, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. “But I slipped up, and they caught me. I was fired before I could even try to explain myself.” 

Tense silence falls over the room as each of them digests this. Eventually, Jisung speaks up, puzzle pieces clicking together. “So _ you’re _the one who paid me to deliver those chestplates?” 

Kun nods. “It was a request from a very dear friend of mine. We both wanted to keep Mark and Donghyuck safe.” He looks over the four of them, and a fond smile tugs at his lips. “Clearly, we didn’t need to worry as much as we did, since they’ve got you guys.” 

“Oh, not me, not really,” Jisung jumps in quickly, glancing at the other three boys. “I’m just here because I wanted answers as to why my shirt was bugged.” 

“Old habit,” Kun repeats apologetically. “I’m sorry, Jisung.” 

“And for the record, dumbass,” Jaemin says, elbowing Jisung hard in the ribs, “I think you’re sort of stuck with us. Especially after hearing all this. Which means, I’m officially sorry for trying to kill you with that bottle of oil.” 

“Bottle of—you know what, I don’t even want to know,” Ten says, rolling his eyes. “Are we done here? I was going to make dinner.” 

“No you weren’t,” Kun jumps in immediately. “I don’t want to replace the cabinets again.” 

“Fine, I was about to ask _ you _to make dinner,” Ten corrects, amused. “And your precious cabinets will keep their doors.” 

Kun hums, mollified, and turns back to the four of them. Jisung is still bright red, and Renjun’s brow is still a little creased, but all in all, they’re generally less confused than they were about half an hour ago. 

“You’re still trying to find where those shipments are going, right?” Jeno asks. Kun reaches over Ten to press a couple things on his keyboard, and the screen to their right flips to show a map covered in little red dots and a long list of what looks like times and prices. 

“This is all I have to far,” Kun says. “Nothing solid yet—I’ve run it through every algorithm and program I have, trying to see if there’s a pattern.” 

“So in other words, you’ve got nothing,” Renjun says. 

“Technically, yes,” Kun agrees, reluctant. “But I’ve got a hunch. Something about this feels…off. It’ll just take me a little while to figure out _ what._” 

“We’ll help,” Jeno immediately says, and Jaemin sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. Fucking Jeno, always eager to assist, like he’s somehow got infinite energy to be kind and giving. “Right, guys? I’m sure Mark and Hyuck will agree.” 

“Speaking of, where did they go?” Jisung asks, and Kun taps a couple more keys, changing yet another screen to live footage of the roof, where Mark and Donghyuck have somehow managed to attract yet another overly-aggressive mob of masked bad guys and are currently fighting them off. 

Kun and Ten, at least, are surprised. The rest of them—even Jisung, because it’s literally become a _ daily _occurrence—watch with deadpan expressions, unimpressed. 

“Should we…help them?” Kun asks slowly. 

Jisung shrugs, and Jaemin takes a picture of it to post on his Snapchat. 

“Nah,” Jeno says. “They’re fine. This happens all the time.” 

“How does that just _ happen _to them?” Ten asks, disbelieving. “I thought Donghyuck was exaggerating when he told me about it.” 

“I don’t even want to know,” Renjun says, flapping a hand at the screen. “Knowing them, it’s probably something so stupid. Colossally stupid.”

Jaemin snickers, still watching the screen. “Ten bucks says it’s Donghyuck’s fault, who’s in?” 

* * *

Twenty minutes earlier, Donghyuck and Mark are attempting to talk about their fight. Donghyuck’s nose has stopped bleeding, thank god, because it’s really hard to talk with blood pouring down his throat. The key word here is _ attempting, _ and the other key word is _ failing, _ because Mark is awkward and Donghyuck is awkward _ and _in love with him, which makes it twice as hard to actually communicate anything in an emotionally mature, controlled manner. So Mark spends twenty minutes skirting the issue, and Donghyuck spends twenty minutes trying not to cry, and then he finally works up the courage to ask, “how did Ten mess you up?” 

Mark opens his mouth to answer, to tell the truth, but is interrupted by a half-dozen guys in masks emerging onto the roof. 

“Come on, really?” Donghyuck mutters, just as one of them pulls a gun and shoots Mark in the chest. Or—they try to, but Mark flings himself to the side a half-second before the shot is fired, and the bullet whizzes harmlessly past him. 

“Again with predicting the future?” Donghyuck demands as Mark dodges another bullet gracelessly, scooting the side like he’s doing a dance move. “When are you gonna tell me what the _ fuck _is up with you?” 

“Watch out!” Mark warns, and Donghyuck spins on his heel, slamming the heel of his hand into the sternum of one of the attackers. He stumbles back, tipping off the roof and landing hard on the fire escape, where he doesn’t move. Donghyuck doesn’t feel bad for him in the slightest. What an asshole—actually, _ all _of them are assholes, interrupting what clearly was a very important, serious conversation. 

“I told you,” Mark continues, voice carrying across the roof, “ever since that second visit to Ten, something—something hasn’t been _ right. _Sure, I can sense when stuff happens a second before it does—” He dodges another gunshot, backpedaling towards Donghyuck and effectively proving his point, “—but it’s come with a bunch of side effects, too. Which is, uh, less good.” 

Donghyuck ducks a punch from one, disarms another, and turns to pistol-whip a third so hard her eyes roll back in her head. 

“So let me get this straight,” Donghyuck says, sweeping a leg low to the ground and toppling another guy so Mark can shove him down the fire escape, “Ten messed you up, and now you can sense when something bad is gonna happen?” 

“Uh, sort of,” Mark answers, giving Donghyuck a nervous glance. “You’re not—are you pissed off at me?” 

“What makes you think that?” Donghyuck says, punching a guy unnecessarily hard. Okay, so, maybe he _ is _ a little pissed, but only because he feels like Mark made a _ huge _ deal over this _ one _ thing, and is acting so high and mighty about _ protecting _ Donghyuck from the guilt because _ oh, _ so much went _ wrong_—

“You’re pissed,” Mark says, and he may be dense but he’s also been Donghyuck’s best friend for going on six years, which means he’s practiced in the art of picking up when Donghyuck is _ truly _angry. Like now, for example. “Listen, when this is over, I’ll try to explain it to you. And maybe I can get your side of this, too.” Mark purses his lips. “I don’t wanna just let this sit, Hyuck. I want to forgive you, if you’ll do the same for me.” 

The last part comes out sounding like a question, and it’s so frail and vulnerable that Donghyuck feels his heart squeeze, throat closing bitterly. Of _ course _ he’ll forgive Mark—that was a given. He doesn’t _ want _ to, of course, because he feels cut-off and slightly betrayed, but Mark Lee has never meant him harm, ever. There’s also the fact that Donghyuck is painfully in love with him and could never hold a single thing against him, even if he did something _ truly _terrible, like order pineapple on pizza or call Renjun his best friend. 

“Feelings are stupid,” Donghyuck declares, grabbing another masked dude by the throat and tossing him off the roof. The last guy tries to make a break for it, but Donghyuck pulls a bar off one of the skylights underneath him and hurls it at the escaping assaulter like a javelin, nailing him in the back of the head and sending him sprawling. 

Donghyuck brushes his hands off and turns back to Mark. “Okay. I’m listening.” 

“Me too,” Mark says, crossing his arms. “I first wanna know why you didn’t tell me it was Ten. The least I could’ve done was go back and ask him what happened.” 

The guilt Donghyuck had done a fantastic job of suppressing finally breaks past the dam and floods through him. He sits heavily on the A/C unit, metal ridges digging into his skin, and sighs. 

“I, um,” he starts haltingly, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. “I guess…it comes down to me being afraid to take responsibility. Like, it’s _ so _ hard for me to face the thought that your pain—or whatever, I don’t know—was because of _ me.” _Donghyuck bites his lip, studiously avoiding eye contact. “I never…you know I don’t want to hurt you,” he insists. “It’s why I did all of this in the first place.” 

Mark looks a little surprised. Clearly, this is not what he expected Donghyuck to say. He opens his mouth soundlessly, closes it again, and then comes to sit next to Donghyuck. 

“Hyuck,” Mark says eventually, and Donghyuck chokes back a sob. “Hey, I’m not mad.” He puts a tentative hand on Donghyuck’s back, and Donghyuck can’t help but melt into the touch, the wild stampede of emotions slowing a little. “I was just a little hurt, I guess, that you felt like you needed to lie to me.” 

“Hypocrite,” Donghyuck mumbles, and Mark laughs self-consciously. 

“Yeah, right?” he asks. “Funny how we were mad at each other for the same reason. I hid stuff, you hid stuff—” 

“You were _ extra _shady about it,” Donghyuck points out, and Mark nudges him in the ribs. 

“Nuh-uh,” Mark says.

“You were _ too,” _Donghyuck refutes, shoving back at Mark. 

But they’re both laughing now, and Donghyuck feels like a hundred tons have been lifted from his shoulders and he can breathe easy for the first time today. It’s also at this time that he realizes Mark is covered in blood, and there’s a few bullet holes in his shirt. Most of the minor scrapes have faded already, but the bigger ones—plus gunshot wounds—usually take a little more time and energy. 

Mark follows Donghyuck’s gaze to his bloodstained shirt and turns pink. “I, uh, may have the whole warning system, but I’m not inhumanely fast.” He shrugs. “At least the speed-healing is nice.” 

“You could’ve told me,” Donghyuck says, knocking his knee into Mark’s. 

“Yeah, I was being unreasonable,” Mark admits, looking down at his hands. “I was upset at you for sorta...well, it felt like you were hiding something from me.” He coughs awkwardly, and his voice gets so quiet Donghyuck has to lean in to hear. “I retaliated because I thought it would make me feel better.” 

“And how’d that work out?” Donghyuck huffs, but it’s in good humor. Mark shakes his head, but he’s smiling. 

“Bad,” he says, and when Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow, he laughs, holding his hands up. “_Really _ bad, okay? It _ sucked. _ I’m sorry.” He meets Donghyuck’s eyes, and Donghyuck feels his breath catch in his throat. There’s a flicker of warmth that shivers down his spine, and for a second, he thinks Mark might actually lean in. 

“I forgive you,” Donghyuck’s stupid mouth says before he can think about it, and the moment dissolves. Mark laughs again, makes a dumb joke, and tells Donghyuck he forgives him too. 

“Okay, now that we’ve forgiven each other,” Donghyuck says, curiosity beginning to itch again, “can we actually rewind to the whole _ brain alarm _thing? Because you’ve sort of glossed over that, and I’m really curious.” 

Mark pulls out his phone, glances at the time, and sighs. “Yeah, fine. Five minutes.” He braces his hands on his knees and stands up like he’s about to give a presentation. “So, it’s sort of like—” 

* * *

“Okay, so, wait,” Jisung says, “did Donghyuck just try to—” 

“Yes,” Renjun says, impatient. “He did.” 

“And then they almost—” 

“Yeah, they do that a lot,” Jeno confirms. “Don’t bring it up, though. It makes Donghyuck a little homicidal.” 

Jisung blanches at the thought. He’d been slammed into a wall once by the throat, and that was enough. 

There’s the sound of the front door opening, and Donghyuck and Mark’s voices fill the apartment. 

“Hey, guys!” Donghyuck calls, looking around the empty kitchen. “Where are you?” 

Jeno’s head appears in the doorway of the computer room. “Back here! Kun’s been showing us some stuff about Macroshot.” 

“Oh, awesome,” Donghyuck says, heading down the hallway. His reaction to the room full of screens is similar to his friends’. Mark, on the other hand, swoons and catches himself against the wall, the gunshot wounds and scrapes on his head and knees beginning to bleed anew. 

“Whoa, what the fuck?” Renjun asks, frowning as Jaemin and Donghyuck rush to grab him. “Did he just stop healing?” 

“No way,” Jeno says, disbelieving, stepping forward and lifting Mark’s blood-drenched shirt away from his chest. “Wait, these are half-healed.” 

Mark groans, face paling and sweat beading on his forehead. “Call 911,” he groans, “because I think I’m dying. And it feels perma—ouch, holy _ shit _—” 

“Oh my god, it’s entirely my fault,” Kun says, covering his hands with his mouth. “I didn’t know Mark had powers, which means—” 

“You’re cancelling them out,” Ten finishes, standing urgently. He takes Mark from Jaemin and Donghyuck. “I’ll get him into the bathroom—will that be far enough, babe?” 

“Yeah, should be,” Kun says, retreating in the back corner of the room. “Thank you, Ten.” 

Ten blows him a kiss, slinging Mark’s arm around his shoulders. Mark coughs blood all over Ten’s face and shirt, but Donghyuck knows he’s never been shy around gore, if his last two visits were any indication. Their previous altercation already seems to be forgotten, too. 

“I totally forgot about that,” Kun says, looking horrified. “That was nearly a disaster.” He turns to Donghyuck. “You doing alright? Do you need to sit down?” 

Donghyuck frowns. He presses down against the doorframe with one of his hands, and feels the wood crack under his grip easily. Whatever Kun did to Mark isn’t affecting Donghyuck, it looks like, which is a little strange, honestly. It throws him off a little, and he’s got half a mind to ask Kun about it before realizing that he doesn’t…_want _to know. At least not right now. Today has already been a lot, and why he’s not affected like a regular super-powered person is not a can of worms he wants to open. 

He’d asked Mya about it, once, right before she’d been called overseas back to the military and Donghyuck had been sent to his aunt and uncle’s house—two people he’d known about but hadn’t met until that day in the airport, fourteen years old with a suitcase full of weaponry and stained t-shirts. Mya, like she’d been able to sense the end of their time together, had finally offered a half-explanation (she had refused to tell him about _ why _ he trained or _ how _ he was able to punch through brick walls). 

_ They were a gift, _ she’d said, _ and a curse. One your parents hated to give you, but had to anyway. One day, Hyuck, you will know why. _And she’d patted him on the back, a rare show of affection, and knocked a few miles off of his nighttime run so they could watch a movie, one of those old martial arts movies she claimed she hated but always had a soft spot for. 

“Donghyuck?” Jeno says, and Donghyuck realizes the room has fallen silent in the time he’d been reminiscing. His time with Mya had been brutal, nonstop, and had fucked him up in a hundred different ways—but she’d never been cruel. 

He misses her in times like this, when he’s too tired to put together his own solutions. “I’m fine,” he answers Kun at last, very aware that it’s far too late to pass for anything but awkward. “Just…a little weak, I guess.” 

“Okay, good,” Kun says, visibly relieved. Donghyuck feels a tiny flash of guilt for lying to him, but then is glad he kept the oddity to himself. No need to add anything to anyone’s plate. “Can I ask…do you get attacked like that a lot?” 

“As of recently? Yeah,” Donghyuck says, flopping down into the desk chair and picking some dried blood out of his cuticles. It’s probably Mark’s. “Mark’s died twice in the last three months or so. It’s crazy—I feel like we’ve angered a gang, or something, with all the drug busts we’ve done.” 

Kun’s forehead is creasing. Donghyuck doesn’t like the look of it—it looks very _ responsible_, all well-reasoned and prone to saying something like, _ I don’t think it’s a coincidence, _which will make his life infinitely harder— 

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Kun says, and Donghyuck groans, flinging his legs out and sliding down in the chair. Renjun rolls his eyes him as Kun runs through a bunch of strange, ominous information about packages and Macroshot. “The police are stretched thin,” Kun finishes, “and things start to slip through the gaps.” 

“_What _ things?” Jaemin asks tentatively, and Kun shrugs helplessly. Something stirs in Donghyuck’s mind—something from the fight with Arsenic and Silver Slipper weeks ago, when Arsenic told Donghyuck he’d been _ freed and paid to do a job. _

It could be totally unrelated. Hell, Donghyuck _ hopes _it’s unrelated. But based on how things are going, falling together one hazy piece at a time, it’s probably not. 

With a massive, reluctant sigh, he tells Kun about Arsenic. 

“That is actually really good to know,” Kun says, turning to type something into the computer. “Johnny said—” 

“Johnny?” Jisung asks when Kun pauses. 

“A friend,” Kun answers, waving Jisung off. “Anyway, I heard that the hostage crises felt…_ planned. _ Organized, almost. So to know Arsenic was _ paid— _yeah, that’s really interesting.” 

Renjun is frowning, and Donghyuck can hear the gears in his head turning. “But…why? Nobody was really injured, and only one person died out of the three that happened. That feels pointless, if you ask me.” 

They all sit in silence for a second, minds working. Donghyuck tries several different theories—ghost possession, for drama, for fun—but none of them work. Nobody else seems to have anything either, which is disheartening.

“Well,” Kun says after a few more beats pass. He claps his hands together lightly. “Now you know about the chestplates, and you know what I’m doing here.” He claps Jeno on the shoulder. “Good work with the tracking, by the way. I was never the best programmer—I’m glad it was you that found me, not someone else.” 

Jeno beams at the praise, and Kun gives them all a warm smile. “Come back anytime,” he says, then glances over at Donghyuck. “Maybe with less violence, though.” 

Donghyuck feels his cheeks go hot. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but Kun just laughs and waves. 

He tries to apologize a little later, too, as Mark (freshly healed, and scrubbed of most of the blood, thanks to Ten) rejoins them and they start to file out of Ten and Kun’s apartment. Kun just shakes his head firmly, and puts a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. 

“It’s _ okay, _Hyuck,” he insists. “Ten’s okay, I’m okay, and we’re on the same page now.” 

Donghyuck hears a shout of laughter, and looks over his shoulder to see Mark and Jeno cracking up, braced against the wall to keep upright. When he turns back around, Kun has a knowing look on his face, and Donghyuck knows he’d seen it all, somehow. God_ dammit. _ How come everyone knew about him being in love with Mark _ except _Mark himself? How does that logic work? 

_ It doesn’t, _ Donghyuck answers for himself, irritated. _ There’s no logic there. _

“Let me know if anything happens,” Kun says, hand still on Donghyuck’s shoulder. “Even if it feels like a small thing. Okay?” 

Donghyuck nods, and Kun releases him, stepping back. Ten winds an arm around his waist without looking up from his phone. 

“I don’t wanna see you here in pieces, Donghyuck Lee,” Ten says, his tone contrasting the gravity of his words. “Be safe out there. Something is shifting.” 

“Hyuck!” Jaemin shouts. “The elevator is here!” 

“What do you mean by shifting?” Donghyuck asks urgently, but Ten just detaches from Kun and wanders towards the kitchen. 

“See you soon,” Kun says, equally as mysterious. He gives Donghyuck one last smile as Jaemin calls his name again. Giving up, Donghyuck turns on his heel and jogs down the hallway. 

“What’s for dinner?” he can hear Ten ask in the background. 

The elevator dings open, and Donghyuck is amongst his friends again, packed in and safe. He and Mark are back on speaking terms, he just kicked some serious ass, and there’s something Big and Event-Worthy going on, which should be exciting. 

Emphasis on _ should be_. Because it doesn’t feel exciting in the slightest—it feels _ wrong. _Unnerving. 

Ten’s words echo in his head. _ Something is shifting. _

_ God, I hope not, _Donghyuck thinks, but, like most things in his life, will find that he’s completely, spectacularly, and utterly wrong. 

* * *

But for now, everything feels fine. Great, even. September closes and the trees burst into color to welcome October; the first of the Halloween decorations appear. Donghyuck closes his dorm window for the season, continues to ignore his roommate, and lets the familiar routine of school lull him into an uneasy sort of security. He’s subconsciously aware that this can’t last, that it _ won’t _ last, but his classes are going well and he sees Mark every day and goes out with his friends on Fridays and Saturdays and it feels _ right. _It feels normal, even though everything about him is anything but. 

It’s one of these Fridays that Donghyuck is reminded of it. They’re at a house show, the kind where the music is good but too loud and he’s packed shoulder-to-shoulder with a hundred other people in the living room, clutching a recycled soda cup filled with vodka and two Red Bulls. Jisung, bizarrely, is here—he’s dancing with Renjun and looking like he’s having the time of his life. Jeno and Jaemin are talking with a few people Donghyuck sort of recognizes, which leaves Mark unaccounted and _ really _the only person Donghyuck actually cares about. He wants to stand too close to him on purpose and pretend like it’s the crush of people around them, wants to let the drunk part of him override the coward, wants to step into Mark’s space and— 

Mark is talking to another boy. Donghyuck’s stomach drops. It doesn’t look casual at _ all_—it looks flirty, because Mark’s doing that shoulder lean thing against the wall and he’s got a stupid, goofy smile on his face, leaning _ way _ in to the other boy’s space. Like, come _ on, _ Mark Lee, it’s loud but not _ that _ loud, you can shout. Why do you have to _ lean in _like that, so close? 

Donghyuck’s hand subconsciously twitches towards the spot where his safety knife usually is. He’d taken it off tonight because him being drunk and armed is not a combination people want. _ People _ being everyone but him, that is. He thinks it’s sort of amusing, drunkenly chasing Mark around and threatening to cut all his hair off. 

Mark slides a little closer. The boy puts a _ very _ friendly hand on his arm. Donghyuck feels a spike of irrational annoyance, which means it’s time to step away and leave before he escalates things and fucks something up beyond repair. He and Mark are solid, especially since the rooftop talk, but Donghyuck doesn’t want to do something like that again. So he takes a deep breath and forces himself out of the room, something he considers to be very mature of him to do. He’s not going to let it ruin his night, and fights back bitter jealousy (why can’t _ he _ be the other boy—why doesn’t Mark lean closer to _ him _that way?) as he heads back outside, shivering a little at the sudden temperature change. He takes a few deep breaths, head spinning, and tries to get Mark Lee off of his mind before he does something stupid like punch a hole through a wall or storm back in and hurl the strange boy through a window. 

It doesn’t work. Mark and the boy are still very much on his mind, even two days later when Donghyuck is ignoring Mark but trying to be subtle about it (read: incredibly obvious in an attempt to convey his feelings) and it’s working, much to his dismay. Mark doesn’t know he’s being ignored (read, again: Mark is incredibly dense and Donghyuck wants to _ scream_) and even _ worse, _he brings the boy to one of their homework sessions in the study lounge by Donghyuck’s dorm room. Jaemin is scrolling through Twitter and Jeno and Renjun are playing a game of Hangman on the whiteboard when Mark and the boy walk through the door. 

“Hey, guys,” Mark says. “This is Jaden. We met at that party a few days ago—he’s in our nutrition class, Hyuck.” 

“Hey,” Jaden says, smiling. He’s got a good smile. Donghyuck’s hand twitches towards the spot where his safety knife is—unlike the party, he’s actually got it this time, sheathed comfortably against his ribcage under his hoodie. Jaemin, unfortunately notices the movement and snorts, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Jaden looks at him, confused, but Mark just puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him that their friends are weird, ignore Jaemin, blah blah blah. Jaemin, eyes watering—what’s with him finding the _ stupidest _shit funny—texts Donghyuck under the table. 

_ lol ur so jealous ur about to KILL Jaden i’m DYING _

Donghyuck narrows his eyes at Jaemin, kicking Jaemin’s chair so hard it goes flying backwards and nearly takes out Jeno, who dives to the side with a yelp. Jaemin doesn’t even bother to hide his laughter this time, doubling over and wheezing soundlessly. Renjun crowds next to him, reading the text he sent Donghyuck, which sends him into partial hysterics as well. 

Jaden is watching the whole exchange with a very lost look on his face, and Donghyuck can feel Mark getting a little annoyed with all of them, probably because they’re not including Jaden or introducing themselves or something. The feeling of vindication Donghyuck gets from both of these reactions overrides any offense he’d taken from being laughed at, and he even gives Jaemin and Renjun a sarcastic smile. 

Eventually, however, they _ do _ settle down, and everyone goes back to chatting and doing homework, which means _ Jaden _ starts to talk as well, sharing little details about himself that Donghyuck doesn’t give a _ damn _ about, smiling and laughing at Mark’s jokes. The same prickly, hot, irrational anger from the party returns in full force, setting his fingertips alight and making it hard to breathe. The worst part is watching _ Mark, _ who’s never looked this serious about anyone, ever, as long as Donghyuck had known him. Even though he knows Mark _ probably _doesn’t love him in the way Donghyuck does, there was always that tiny part of him that dared to hope—that maybe, Mark was holding out for Donghyuck, waiting for one of them to pluck up the courage and make the first move. 

But that tiny part has been crushed. The flame is guttering, the ember is losing its heat, and it hurts too badly to sit here and watch Mark be happy. 

He gets to his feet abruptly, and Mark’s head immediately swivels towards him, brow creasing as he tries to read Donghyuck’s face. Donghyuck avoids Mark’s gaze, feeling his confusion, and makes an excuse about getting something from the vending machine. 

“Hey, I’ll come,” Mark says quickly, half-standing. “I want a drink—” 

“No,” Donghyuck blurts before he can help himself. “I mean—it’s fine. I’ll get one for you.” Mark opens his mouth to argue, but Donghyuck grabs his phone off the table and makes a beeline for the hallway, feeling like he’s about to explode. 

There’s footsteps behind him. “Hyuck, wait!” 

Donghyuck whirls around, ready to deck Mark Lee, super-strength be damned, but it’s Renjun, looking uncharacteristically concerned. It’s in a moment of weakness that he lets Renjun follow him down the hall towards the vending machines, feeling like he might cry. 

“Remember when you pulled my closet door off its hinges freshman year of high school?” Renjun asks, breaking the silence. “And you cried because I thought I was going to report your abilities to the police and get you sent away to a testing facility?” 

“I hate when you bring that up,” Donghyuck mutters, pulling out his wallet and slotting some change into the machine. “It was embarrassing.” 

“It’s good blackmail material,” Renjun admits, and when Donghyuck turns on him, baleful, he raises his hands in surrender. “That’s not why I’m bringing it up. God, this is so inefficient. Okay.” He takes a short breath. “The _ point _is, Hyuck, is that whatever you tell me will stay with me. You know that, right?” 

Donghyuck nods, pushing another coin into the slot. It takes him a second to work up the courage, but Renjun fidgets impatiently after a bit. “I’m in love with Mark,” Donghyuck admits quietly, eyes on the drink selection. It’s not something he’s _ ever _ said aloud to any of his friends—he knows they know, because it’s so obvious even a _ dead _person could see it. 

_ SO WHY HASN’T MARK LEE? _A furious part of him shrieks petulantly. He ignores it. 

“I know,” Renjun says, sighing. “Everyone except Mark seems to know.” 

Donghyuck leans his forehead against the machine. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Renjun. I don’t think I can just—I can’t just _ get _over him, you know? But I also want him to be happy.” 

“No, you don’t,” Renjun says, patting Donghyuck on the back. “You want him to be miserable with Jaden, and happy with _ you._” 

“You’re right,” Donghyuck mumbles, pressing a random button on the vending machine. The loud _ thud _of the drink falling into the slot startles him, and he steps back. “I’m not that selfless, even if I want to be.” 

“What do you want, then?” Renjun asks, and Donghyuck pulls out a bottle of cherry Coke, Mark’s favorite soda. God, even when he’s _ not _thinking about Mark, he’s still in the back of Donghyuck’s mind, taking up too much space and too much energy. 

“To kiss him,” Donghyuck says. Renjun doesn’t reply—he’s waiting for a bigger truth, the one that Donghyuck’s kept next to his heart since sophomore year of high school. 

It’s a scary truth. One that Donghyuck is not sure he’s actually capable of handling. But he’s got to try—he’s got to do _ something _about it. 

“I want him to love me back,” Donghyuck admits finally. It feels like one of them should laugh, him or Renjun, to break the strange stillness that’s fallen over the both of them. Neither of them do. 

Instead, Renjun pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Donghyuck’s shoulders for a long moment before pulling away. It speaks volumes, more than anything Renjun could say aloud. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says. “I wish I could help.” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck replies, staring down at the bottle of cherry Coke. “Me too.” 

* * *

The rest of the week, at least, is slightly more bearable. He skips his nutrition class on Wednesday to avoid both Mark and Jaden, and hangs out at Jaemin’s house Thursday night to study for his stupid philosophy quiz. Jaemin’s mom shows up around eleven, looking exhausted. Still, she gives Donghyuck a warm smile when she sees him and hugs him tightly. 

“How was work, Mom?” Jaemin asks, emerging from the mess of notes and textbooks on the dining room table. 

“Busy,” she answers, pressing a kiss to the top of Jaemin’s head. “Sorry I’ve been away so frequently, baby.” 

“It’s okay,” Jaemin replies. “You’re being safe, right? Catching all the criminals?” 

“We’re doing our best,” Ms. Na says, rubbing her temples. “Usually, autumn means _ decreasing _crime rates, not a record-breaking three months of assault and armed robbery.” 

Jaemin and Donghyuck exchange a meaningful look, and Donghyuck remembers what Kun said about coincidences. Something is _ definitely _starting, and by the looks of it, it’s not anything good. 

“I’m going to bed, boys, but Donghyuck, you’re always welcome to sleep over if need be.” Ms. Na gives them a little wave before heading up the stairs. 

“Night, Mom!” Jaemin calls after her, and then sits back in his chair. “Fuck,” he tells Donghyuck. “_Record-breaking _crime?” 

Donghyuck shakes his head slowly. “Dude, I have no idea. Maybe we should go back to Kun’s apartment?” 

“Maybe we _ should,_” Jaemin agrees. They both think about that for a second, collectively decide that it’s far too much work and also not their problem (yet), forget about it and go back to studying. 

Friday comes, Donghyuck aces his philosophy quiz, and gets out of class at three. Renjun invites them all to this house party thrown by Lucas, who went to their high school but graduated a year before them. 

“It’ll be fun,” Renjun says when Donghyuck calls him angrily, demanding to know _ why _ he invited Mark _ and _Jaden. “You won’t even see them if you don’t want to, Hyuck. Don’t be a baby.” 

“What happened to all the sympathy you had for me?” Donghyuck demands. 

“It’s taking the night off,” Renjun deadpans. “You’re coming. See you at nine-thirty.” He hangs up, and Donghyuck is so worked-up about the whole Mark thing that he gives up on trying to do homework and goes for a run instead. 

He used to run a lot more, especially during high school, before he and Mark got into the whole vigilante thing. He’d jump rooftops in the art district and sprint down the middle of streets in the quiet residential neighborhoods. With Mya, it’d been training, school, training, and then he’d fall into bed absolutely spent, sleeping dreamlessly. When she’d sent him to his aunt and uncle, he’d gone from five hours of exercise a day to about one, and it made him so jittery that his aunt had asked if he needed to go see the doctor. 

Even now, nearly six years later, running offers the same relief as it always had. He runs fast enough to shorten his breath but not enough to pant, and pushes himself to seven, eight, nine miles before his legs start to ache. It’s at twelve when he finally stops, because the sun is setting and he’s not dressed for the chill that comes during the nights nowadays. An hour later, he’s showered and dressed and waiting out front of Renjun’s dorm, feeling much calmer and clear-headed. 

He and Renjun chat easily about school and Lucas and video games, feet crunching over leaves just beginning to fall from trees. The moon is out tonight, half a circle hanging in the sky and casting a faint, yellowish light over them as they make their way towards Jeno and Mark’s apartment. 

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” Renjun asks as Donghyuck texts Jeno to let him know they’re out front. “You’re not going to try to kill someone with a plate, or something?” 

“Pssh,” Donghyuck scoffs, waving Renjun off. “I’d never kill anyone with a plate.” 

Renjun raises an eyebrow, and Donghyuck amends, “okay, so I’d kill _ Jaden, _but it wouldn’t be with a plate, it’d be with something less breakable, like a pot—” 

“What’s this about pot?” Jaemin asks, striding down the sidewalk and slinging an arm around Renjun’s shoulders. Renjun immediately throws him off and puts him in a headlock. 

“We’re talking about me killing someone with a pot,” Donghyuck clarifies. 

“Ah,” Jaemin says, nodding. “Is it Jaden you’re killing?” 

“What about Jaden?” Says Mark from behind them, and Donghyuck whirls around, jumping behind Renjun to hide. 

“Nothing about Jaden,” Renjun lies, though Donghyuck’s sure the three of them look very suspicious. Mark frowns at Donghyuck, who pointedly avoids meeting his eyes. 

“Let’s go, guys, it’s freezing,” Jaemin whines, wiggling out of Renjun’s chokehold. Donghyuck wedges himself between Renjun and Jeno before Mark can claim one of his sides and try to talk to him. Donghyuck isn’t sure he can do that without crying or kissing him on the mouth. Either would be incredibly bad, immensely embarrassing, and would require him to change his name and leave the country immediately. 

Jeno, sensing that something’s off, leans in towards Donghyuck. “Jaden isn’t coming tonight,” he tells Donghyuck. “He’s sick.” 

A tiny thrill of satisfaction runs down Donghyuck’s spine. “What a shame,” he says, not bothering to sound sincere. Jeno just shakes his head, smiling bemusedly. 

The party is in full swing by the time they get there, and people spill out from a number of houses around them. The whole street is occupied by mostly students, Donghyuck knows, which makes it a popular destination on Friday nights. 

There are people on the front steps and there are people in the backyard and everywhere else, too, and by the time they get into the house and get their drinks, Donghyuck’s already sweat through his jacket. Mark, Jeno, and Jaemin have already been drinking, but Renjun and Donghyuck haven’t, so it’s an awkward thirty minutes before the alcohol finally starts to loosen his limbs and he can relax. He loses the majority of his friends for a while, spends some time talking to a few girls he knows from his Stats class, drinks some more and dances a little. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself by the time he takes a break, joining Jeno by the open back door and letting the cool air wash over his sweaty skin. Mark finds them a few minutes later, and Donghyuck is drunk enough to forget about everything that has happened between them in the last few days. Instead, he links his arm with Mark’s and tugs him closer, letting his head fall onto Mark’s shoulder as he closes his eyes. 

“You doing okay?” he hears Mark ask, and Donghyuck nods. Jeno leaves to go get another beer, and then it’s just the two of them in the corner, listening to the party outside and in the living room. 

“I mean in general,” Mark adds, and that’s enough to get Donghyuck to lift his head. Mark meets Donghyuck’s eyes cautiously, like he’s trying not to scare Donghyuck off. “You’ve been quiet this week. There was that drug bust going on on Tuesday, and you didn’t go.” 

“I’ve been tired,” Donghyuck says, only both he and Mark know it’s a lie. “Sorry.” 

Mark takes a half-step closer, probably because he can’t hear over music or something. Donghyuck’s heart skips a beat anyway. 

“Talk to me, Hyuck,” Mark says, nudging Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend.” 

“And you’re mine,” Donghyuck replies. Mark’s lips quirk, and there’s something about how he looks in the light that makes Donghyuck’s heart sing. Or maybe that’s the vodka shots, or the two beers. 

“You’re not gonna tell me?” Mark asks, and he’s close enough now that they’re no longer shouting. The breath is crushed from Donghyuck’s lungs at their nearness, at the possibilities that lie heavy in the air. He could reach out and kiss Mark right now, if he wanted to. He could put his hands on Mark’s face or around his middle, could look at his lips and smile. 

He does neither of those things, however, because he’s a coward and doesn’t want to risk ruining _ everything _just for a single touch, not when they’re both drunk and little out of their minds. 

Mark sets his hands on Donghyuck’s shoulders. They’re too warm, as always, and Donghyuck can’t help but lean into Mark, barely passing it off as a drunken sway. 

“Hyuck,” Mark says, and Donghyuck shakes his head. 

“Can’t tell you,” he mumbles. “It’s not…” 

“Not what?” 

“You guys, we’re going back,” Jaemin interrupts, jumping between the two of them, completely oblivious. “Jisung wants to come over to your and Jeno’s house, Mark. He says he’s bored.” 

“Uh,” Mark says blankly, struggling to keep up. His hands are still on Donghyuck’s shoulders. 

“Great,” Jaemin answers brightly. “Meet you in the front. I’m going to get Jeno.” 

Mark and Donghyuck look at each other for a long moment as Jaemin vanishes back into the crowd. “We should go?” Donghyuck offers, and Mark nods slowly. Something unreadable flickers across his face, too fast for Donghyuck to identify it. They push their way through the crowd and find the rest of their friends, who are all incredibly intoxicated and laughing about something not that funny. 

“It’s cold out,” Donghyuck says quietly as they tag along at the back of the group, breath fogging in the air. “I can’t believe it’s almost Halloween.” 

“Me neither,” Mark replies. The back of his hand brushes Donghyuck’s, who seizes the opportunity with a fair amount of reckless courage, grabbing Mark’s hand and pressing their shoulders together. If Mark notices the desperation, he doesn’t comment—he just lets Donghyuck cling onto him, uncharacteristically quiet despite the physical contact. They walk a few blocks like that, and the tiny, hopeful part of Donghyuck’s mind gets louder and brighter with each passing moment, until it’s practically _ screaming _at him to ask, confess, or kiss. Maybe all three. 

It all goes very south when they take a left turn, and Mark goes stiff in a way that tells Donghyuck something just set off his internal alarm. A split-second later, he’s letting go of Donghyuck’s hand and diving forward, catching Jeno around the waist just as something dark and shadowy _ leaps _from the alley on their right, barely missing them. Donghyuck’s head clears in an instant, and he’s on top of the person before it can recover. The person—a boy, based on the sound of his voice—goes down quickly, crumpling to the pavement. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Jaemin says, breathing heavily. Mark lets go of Jeno and they all crowd around the boy, face-up and slightly bloody. Renjun fumbles for his phone, and Donghyuck lets out a long breath. 

“Tell me you saw that,” Donghyuck demands. “You saw how he came out of that alley. That wasn’t—” 

“I know,” Mark says, frowning. “I barely got Jeno out of the way.” 

Renjun’s flashlight flicks on, illuminating the boy’s face. He’s young, probably around their age, and he’s got a weird-shaped scar on the side of his jaw, creeping down his neck and under his collar. His nose is bleeding a little, which wouldn’t be that strange or out-of-place if his blood wasn’t—

“It’s black,” Jeno says slowly, staring down at the strange, dark liquid running from the boy’s nose. “Um, that’s sort of weird.”

There’s a moment of silence as they all stare at the boy, seeing but not quite believing. 

“Yeah,” Mark says, decisive. “That’s pretty fucking weird.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	7. interlude: that one chat on the roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I cut you off earlier, Mark Lee. Please continue.

“So it’s sort of like this,” Mark Lee said, and launched into a very confusing explanation about how his re-wired brain worked. 

* * *

For the sake of simplicity, I'll put it this way: 

The  _second _ time Mark Lee died, neither Donghyuck nor Ten took the time to check and see if he was _actually _ dead, which he wasn't _technically, _ because his body was already in the process of bringing him back alive. So when Ten went in to pump  _more _ energy through him, it practically short-circuited the poor guy, whose cells now  _vibrate _ with more energy his body can handle, sort of slipping between what’s happening now and what will happen in about two seconds. So what looks like Mark Lee divining the future is actually his cells splitting and dying at an unnatural rate, thus producing the warning system and also some quite awful side-effects. 

“You’re telling me,” Donghyuck says slowly, “that this whole time, you’ve had a…_danger feeling_? And that you can sense danger _before it happens?_” 

Mark takes a deep breath, wondering how he can explain this. “Uh, so, it’s not quite like that—” 

The now-familiar pit in his stomach opens wide out of nowhere, even though the rooftop is empty and Donghyuck’s long-dispatched all the masked attackers. The ringing in his ears intensifies, and the part of him that Ten had fucked up screams  _OH NO! _

There’s a bang, and Mark’s body moves without him thinking, jerking to the left. He stumbles, nearly losing his balance. At the same time, the ringing fades, the pit closes, and the fucked-up part quiets, satisfied with his safety. 

Donghyuck, meanwhile, has a gun leveled at him and an impressed look on his face. “Whoa.”

Mark stares at him for a second, brain groaning as it starts to catch up. “Did you just try to _shoot _me?” 

“You wouldn’t have _died,_” Donghyuck assures him. “And you heal fast, anyway.” 

“Doesn’t mean that wouldn’t have _hurt_,” Mark replies, scowling. “You could’ve just tried to punch me, or something.” 

Donghyuck shrugs. “Yeah, but this was more effective. And cooler, too. You gotta admit that much.” 

Mark glares at Donghyuck for a second longer before relenting. “Okay, yeah, that was pretty cool.” 

Donghyuck holsters his gun and grins. “So you can dodge bullets. And death-blows. And predict when stuff is gonna fall.” 

“Yeah,” Mark says, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling oddly embarrassed. “Guess I can.” 

“And you were gonna tell me about this…when?” 

“Uh, right, about that,” Mark starts, “so it didn’t actually start happening until this March? But it was with little things. I didn’t notice at first.” 

“Little things?” Donghyuck prompts. 

“Dropping coffee cups, crossing the street, you know,” Mark rattles off, thinking back. “But I thought it was just my regular anxiety. Or stress.” 

Donghyuck squints. “I thought it was like a sixth sense.” 

“Not at all,” Mark says. “It’s actually really miserable. My ears ring constantly, for one. I get a lot of migraines, real bad, and so many nosebleeds, it’s gotta be so unhealthy.” He pauses, trying to to find the right way to say this. “And it’s like—stage fright, but worse. Plus pre-game jitters, and every time I’ve felt nervous presenting, plus that feeling like everyone’s judging me, plus a fair amount of existential dread I think I got because Ten _seriously _messed me up the second time and I’ve died, like, four times by now.” 

Donghyuck’s mouth is turning down, and his pity is not something Mark wants to see, now that he thinks about it. It’s not as satisfying as he’d hoped. 

“Plus everything in me screams _oh no,_” he adds, exhausted. He sits heavily on the A/C unit. “Like, it’s not a _tingle _or a _sense. _Or anything cool. It’s like—I don’t even know how to explain it. I guess I’ve died so many times by now that I’m just really afraid of doing it again. So the messed-up part of me warns me, but it’s not a warning so much as overwhelming anxiety about my life ending.” 

Donghyuck steps off the edge of the roof and comes to sit next to him. “I’m sorry.” 

Mark waves him off. “It’s fine.” His hands prickle uncomfortably at the soft look on Donghyuck’s face, and his instinct is to flee before he’s forced into something awkward. He moves to get up, but Donghyuck grabs him around the arm and yanks him back down. Hard. Too hard. There’s that whole _enhanced strength _that Donghyuck forgets about. Or he ‘forgets’ about it. Maybe he just likes showing off. 

There’s a lot to unpack there, honestly, but now’s not the time. 

Anyway. 

Mark’s shoulder pops out of place, and pain shivers down his spine, making his vision swim. 

“No, you’re gonna listen to me,” Donghyuck says, and shoves Mark’s shoulder back into place with a sickening  _crunch. _

Mark’s vision swims a little more, his nausea surges, and he blacks out for maybe a second or two before the healing kicks in and he can refocus. 

“We have a seriously dysfunctional relationship,” Mark wheezes, interrupting Donghyuck. “I almost just vomited on you. I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re not listening,” Donghyuck says, scowling. “I’ll dislocate your shoulder again. Shut up. We’re having a talk.” 

Mark opens his mouth to argue, but Donghyuck narrows his eyes and effectively shuts Mark up. 

“_As I was saying,” _Donghyuck continues, like Mark had been the rude one, “I’m sorry it sucks so bad. If I could make it better, I would. And I’ll try to be more aware of it. I don’t want you to feel like shit every time something dangerous is going to happen. Which is a lot.” 

“A ton,” Mark agrees. “More than normal.” 

“Sort of concerning, if you think about it,” Donghyuck muses. 

They lapse into silence for a second. 

“Like, seriously,” Mark points out, mind spinning. “We’re college kids. The most danger we should be in at any given time is drinking too much or forgetting to turn in an essay or jaywalking. Instead—” 

“Instead I’ve beaten six people to a pulp, gotten shot, and fallen off a roof. And you died. And also got shot, but a lot more than I did. And that was just  _this week._”

“Plus you just dislocated my shoulder.” Mark rolls the joint in question, though the pain and swelling is already nearly gone. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t count. You asked for it.” 

“How the  _hell—_” 

“Point is,” Donghyuck interrupts, “we’re in danger a lot. But there’s got to be a way to make it less hard on you. And I’m going to help you find that way.” 

Warmth blooms in Mark’s chest at the determined expression on Donghyuck’s face, and the back of his neck heats. “Thanks,” he starts, but is cut off by _another _internal _UH-OH! _as Donghyuck pulls out his gun for a second time and attempts to pistol-whip Mark in the head. Mark barely manages to avoid it, gracelessly lurching into Donghyuck’s lap and headbutting him in the chin so hard both of them are knocked off balance. 

Donghyuck lets out a long string of swear words, arms tightening around Mark as he stops them from falling on their asses. 

When they catch their breath and pull back, they immediately burst into laughter. Mark’s sides start to hurt with the force of it and his cheeks ache from smiling. Donghyuck’s arm is warm over his shoulders. 

“That was such a jerk move,” Mark points out, but he’s breathless and grinning widely. “Please stop trying to kill me.” 

“Never,” Donghyuck says, cheeks dimpling. “It’s too funny.” 

Mark can’t really disagree with that. Especially coming from Donghyuck, who struggles with healthy, non-violent shows of affection, compounded by what Mark knows is years of abandonment issues and nightmares. Mark’s just glad Donghyuck’s let him stick around this long, even if he can’t always identify the look on Donghyuck’s face. 

They sit for a second longer before Mark remembers that they’ve got some things to get back to, and they can’t just stay on the roof and toss bad guys and banter around like they’re some comic-book vigilante duo. They’ve got Kun Qian to meet, some dots to connect, and a whole bunch of other information to sort through. 

But Donghyuck leans into Mark a little, and, well, if they take an extra minute and a half to stay pressed together, neither of them comment on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	8. puzzle pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an alternate life, Donghyuck thinks, there'd be less possessed zombie-demons, and more holding hands with Mark Lee. 
> 
> Unfortunately, this is reality. And it _sucks_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes yes i realize it has been Many Moons...but listen this was so long (13k) that i had to split it into 2 parts so that means you'll have another chapter sooner rather than later. also i did 00ff! and wrote a nomin spin-off! so i wasn't being ENTIRELY lazy and useless for the last.....three months. 
> 
> NEVER MIND THAT THOUGH! the chapter is here! please enjoy!

“What do we do with him?” Renjun asks a second later. “Call Kun? Turn him into the police?” 

“_What_?” Donghyuck nearly shouts. “The _ police? _No! They’ll ship him off to one of the testing centers and we won’t get any answers out of him!” 

“Answers?” Mark asks, looking alarmed.

“Testing centers?” Jisung asks, frowning. 

Jeno explains patiently, “It’s where people with, uh, abnormal abilities get sent, to see if they’re safe to be in public.” 

“Twofold was there for like, ten years before they let him start working with the police,” Jaemin adds. 

“Can we please get back to the topic at hand?” Renjun says, nudging the boy with his foot. “You said you wanted answers, Hyuck?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says. “I mean, don’t you? Why is his blood black? Why did he attack us, and not anyone else?” 

Everyone turns to Mark, like _ he’s _the one in charge, not Donghyuck. 

“Uh, sure, we can ask him,” Mark says. He looks at Donghyuck. “But only if you don’t mess him up too much.” 

Donghyuck salutes. “Not too much messing him up, got it. I can do that.” He reaches down and slings the boy over his shoulder. He’s heavier than Donghyuck thought—though still not heavy enough to _ really _affect him.

“Um, whose house is closest?” Renjun asks. “It’s pretty sketchy to just stroll around carrying an unconscious guy.” 

“Probably ours,” Jeno says, and points somewhere off to the left. “Two blocks, maybe?” 

“I’m down,” Mark agrees. “And I’m with Renjun. The quicker we’re off the street, the better.” His eyes flit from spot to spot, on edge, and the hair on the back of Donghyuck’s neck stands up in anticipation. He trusts Mark to warn them if something happens—but still. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “We should definitely go.” 

Jisung shivers, and they all hurry across the street, not speaking until they’re safely in Mark and Jeno’s apartment, Donghyuck having dragged the boy up the fire escape to avoid a possible confrontation in the elevator. 

“I am still sketched-out every time you do that,” Jeno informs Donghyuck as he shoves the boy through the window, body landing on the floor with a heavy _ thunk. _Donghyuck follows with much more grace. 

“You could one hundred percent be a cat burglar,” Jaemin muses thoughtfully. “Jisung? Any job openings?” 

“I’m _ not _a thief!” Jisung fumes, and Jaemin dissolves into laughter. 

“Guys, our hostage is being a little funky,” Mark says, tapping Donghyuck on the shoulder. Donghyuck turns, and sure enough, the boy is twitching on the ground, limbs jerking mechanically like he’s trying to pick himself up, despite his eyes still being closed. 

“Ugh, weird,” Jaemin says, making a retching noise. 

Donghyuck studies the boy for a second longer, watching his fingers crawl along the floor like they’re searching for something to pull his body up by. His nose is bleeding again, black blood covering his lips and chin and staining the collar of his grubby shirt. He’s _ filthy, _ now that Donghyuck notices it, and not in a grungy, strangely-cute skater way, like Mark is. He’s gross, and Donghyuck means _ gross—_his hair is matted, his clothes are torn and grey, and he stinks so much. 

“He stinks SO MUCH_,_” Donghyuck says aloud, just in case nobody else has noticed. 

“We noticed,” Renjun says, pulling his shirt over his nose. “Hey, do you think we should restrain him, or something?”

“Yes, please, he’s freaking me out,” Jeno mutters. He drags a chair away from the dining table and heads to the kitchen. “We’ve got duct tape somewhere—“ 

“It’s in the bathroom,” Mark says. Jeno pauses to give him a confused look. “I was using it to tape my sneakers back together. They get wrecked every time Donghyuck gets in a fight.”

“So, like, every five seconds?” Renjun asks dryly, and Donghyuck narrows his eyes. Renjun gives him a flat look, like _ you know it’s true. _

Fine. Maybe it is true. He’s working on it—at least for the sake of Mark Lee. He doesn’t want future romantic plans to be interrupted by a crazy, maybe-possessed teenage boy the next time he’s trying to hold Mark’s hand. 

He was _ so _close. At the party, too—there’d definitely been something there between them. Donghyuck refuses to think that he’d imagined it, holding on to the hope (however futile it may be) that for a second—just for a second—Mark had looked at Donghyuck like he’d wanted to—

“Heads up!” Jeno shouts, and Donghyuck looks up just as a roll of duct tape comes flying across the room. He doesn’t even blink as he grabs it out of the air. God, Mya would find it immensely funny that all his years of training for…whatever it was…had culminated in him catching rolls of tape. 

He shakes his head, moving past Mya and back to the present. Everything surrounding her is a trap laid by his own mind, waiting to pull him into a thought spiral that will most _ certainly _leave him sad, mad, and fairly violent. 

The boy is still on the ground, bent nearly in half as his body tries in vain to pick itself up, to little avail. Whatever burst of speed he’d attacked Jeno with his gone, and Donghyuck tapes him to the chair with little effort. 

Once he’s done, he steps back to admire his handiwork, and yep, there is no way the boy is getting out of such an incredible amount of tape. 

“That was the most aggressive use of duct tape I think I’ve ever seen,” Jisung says, sounding amazed. 

“Nah, one time I walked in here while Hyuck was napping and woke him up,” Mark says, “and he threw that exact roll of tape at me.” 

“Were you okay?” Jisung asks. “Did you dodge?”

“This was before the warning system,” Mark says, giving Donghyuck a bemused look, “so no. He broke my nose.”

“And I still feel really bad about it to this very day,” Donghyuck announces. “It ruined your favorite shirt.”

“I’ve gotten really good at removing bloodstains,” Mark says, and grins like it’s something to be proud of. Behind him, Renjun rolls his eyes, like he still, even after years of friendship, cannot believe that they’re having this conversation. 

“Okay, this is really great and all,” Jaemin interrupts, “but what are we gonna do with Demon Boy?”

Mark turns to look at said boy, who’s still clearly unconscious. 

“He’s unconscious,” Donghyuck says anyway, because he likes to think he’s a _ just-in-case _ sorta guy. 

“Oh, really,” Jaemin says sarcastically, and Donghyuck remembers why he likes Jaemin better when he’s stoned: he’s way nicer. Donghyuck scowls at him. 

“I vote we just dump him back out the window,” Renjun says, nose wrinkled. “He’s gross and we don’t know when he’ll wake up.”

“Maybe not the window,” Jeno says, “but Renjun’s sort of right. Who knows how long he’ll sleep for?”

“Yeah, but aren’t you guys _ curious? _” Donghyuck says. “About what happened to him?” He turns to Mark, pleading. “Mark, back me up.”

“Hyuck does have a point,” Mark says, and Donghyuck crosses his arms smugly. “What if this isn’t a single incident? What if there are more maybe-possessed people out there?” 

“So we wait for him,” Donghyuck says decisively. 

“Hey, no fair, Mark always takes your side,” Jaemin complains. “Just because you’re in l—“

“JISUNG!” Donghyuck shouts, startling Jisung so badly he nearly drops his phone. “What do you think?” 

“Unbind me and see what happens,” Jisung says. Except he doesn’t open his mouth. And the voice is coming from behind them, and it’s most definitely _ not Jisung’s. _

The boy is awake, and the corners of his eyes are leaking black blood, and he leans back to let out a distinctly _ inhuman _groan. 

“Fuck!” Mark yelps. “Hyuck—“

He doesn’t get the rest of his sentence out because Donghyuck is already acting, body moving before his mind.

He kicks Mark’s skateboard into his hand, and in the next second, he’s driving it into the boy’s face, whose head snaps back as he goes crashing to the floor, still duct-taped to the chair. 

Donghyuck drops the skateboard. Mark exhales slowly, and Donghyuck inches closer, peering into his face. “Are you—are you okay?” he asks tentatively, not sure if Demon Boy did anything besides spook him. 

“I’m fine,” Mark says, putting a hand on Donghyuck’s arm. He peers over Donghyuck’s shoulder at the newly-unconscious boy. “We’re back to square one, though.” 

Everyone groans. Jeno says something about instant noodles. 

“Sorry,” Donghyuck whispers, just so Mark can hear. He’s not sure he can live down the mortification of his _ other _friends hearing him apologize. “You just—you said my name, and I reacted before I thought it through—“

“No, you’re all good,” Mark assures him, hand sliding up so it rests at the junction of Donghyuck’s neck and shoulder. Sparks dance down Donghyuck’s spine, and he represses a shiver. “I panicked. It was my bad.” He offers Donghyuck a small smile. “Thanks for coming to the rescue anyway.” 

Donghyuck’s heart nearly stops in his chest, and he barely manages to pass it off with a laugh and a nudge. But in his mind, he thinks _ always, always, always. _

* * *

The boy takes a while to wake up for the second time. When he does, it’s to the sight of all of them crowded around Mark and Jeno’s tiny dining room table eating instant noodles. Most of them are still drunk to some degree. Jisung has sriracha on his face. 

They probably could afford to be a little more intimidating, Donghyuck thinks. Maybe if he wasn’t so hungry, he’d try to look a little scarier. 

The boy groans, sounding a lot more human this time around. Jeno nudges Donghyuck, mouth full of food, and points with his chopsticks. Donghyuck glances at Mark, and together, with their instant noodles, they scoot their chairs forward. Donghyuck turns his chair around so he can prop his noodles on the back of it for easier access. 

The boy’s eyes open, and Donghyuck is relieved to see that they’re back to normal—brown, which is much less demonic-looking. The boy takes in his surroundings slowly, looking more confused than anything, before focusing on Mark and Donghyuck. 

“Why am I duct-taped? Why are you guys eating instant noodles?” he asks. His voice is scratchy, like it hasn’t been used in a long time. “Where _ am _I and why does my face hurt?” 

“Nuh-uh,” Donghyuck says. “We’re doing the asking here. _ You’re _the one that tried to attack my friend, after all.” 

The boy’s mouth falls open. “I _ what_?” 

“Don’t play dumb,” Donghyuck says shortly, crossing his arms. “I didn’t hit you _ that _hard. It was literally half an hour ago.” 

“Half an hour—wait, what day is it? And what time?” 

Mark squints at his phone. “It’s October second,” he says. “It’s just past one in the morning.” 

The boy’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, and all the blood drains from his face. “The _second_?” he asks hoarsely. Mark frowns, and shows the boy his phone. 

“No way,” the boy says, sitting back in the chair. He looks shell-shocked, face pale and eyes glassy. “_No way._" 

“What?” Mark asks, still frowning. 

“You're not going to believe me,” the boy says, shaking his head, “but the last day I remember was the twenty-fourth. Of September.” 

Everyone stops eating their noodles and stares at the boy. 

“Stop making things up,” Donghyuck insists, though he’s not sure if the boy is actually lying. If he is—well, give him an award, because he’s a damn good actor. 

“I’m not,” the boy says. “I was walking back from school—I remember it was the twenty-fourth because that's when I was supposed to get my paycheck. But I didn’t, so I called my manager—“ He frowns, mouth pulling down in the corners. A part of Donghyuck softens at that expression, confused and lost. But he keeps his face neutral, neither believing nor disbelieving what the boy is saying. 

“And then?” Jaemin prompts, noodles abandoned. 

“And then I don’t remember,” the boy says. “Something—something _ jumped _at me.” 

“Maybe it was a dog,” Jeno suggests, but the boy shakes his head. 

“Maybe you got mugged and got brain damage,” Jisung says, “which then altered your personality and made you act possessed.” 

“Possessed?” the boy asks, looking more confused with each passing second. “What?” 

Quickly, Mark tells him the whole story. Everyone but Donghyuck seems to have forgotten that this is supposed to be an _ interrogation, _not a chance for them to fill the boy in on the whole week he apparently missed while he was skulking around the city trying to bite people. 

“—and then you were being weird again, so Donghyuck hit you with a skateboard,” Mark finishes. “Sorry if we busted your nose.” 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Donghyuck interrupts loudly. The boy’s attention turns back to him. “This is an interrogation.” 

“You guys aren’t very intimidating,” the boy points out cheerfully. “Besides you.” He nods at Donghyuck. “I don’t really want to be hit by a skateboard again.” 

Donghyuck feels a little smug at that. He can feel Renjun rolling his eyes behind his back, and chooses to ignore him. 

“Then just answer my questions,” Donghyuck insists. The boy shrugs as best he can while wrapped in duct tape. “What’s your name? And how old are you?” 

“Chenle Zhong,” the boy, now named, says. “And I’m eighteen.” 

“And you really don’t remember anything from this whole night?” Donghyuck asks, leaning forward and watching for a sign that Chenle’s lying. 

“I don’t.” _ Truth. _ “But whatever it was—whatever I did—I’m really sorry for it.” _ Another truth. _

Donghyuck stares at Chenle for a long moment, pretending like he’s thinking about. In reality, he’s already sure that whatever possessed Chenle is gone, somehow. And that's not just because he’s good at reading body language—it’s also because the trickle of blood from Chenle’s nose is red again. 

“Alright, fine,” Donghyuck relents at last, and Mark gives a sigh of relief. “Someone go get some scissors so we can cut him free." 

“No need," Chenle says brightly, and just…vanishes, and then reappears a few feet away in the corner of the room. 

Stunned silence falls over them. Mark blinks. “Did you just—?” 

Chenle gives them a sheepish look. “Um, yes?” 

“And you could’ve done that at…any time?” Jaemin asks, torn between disbelief and jealousy. 

Donghyuck cannot _ believe _ that they’ve somehow picked up yet _ another _ weird-ass teenager. How does this keep happening to them? First Jisung and his mysterious courier mission, and now this kid, who can apparently _ teleport. _

“Yeah,” Chenle says, “but I thought it would make you feel better if I pretended to be duct-taped.” 

“Well, now we just look stupid,” Jisung says, tossing his chopsticks onto the table sullenly. 

“Hyuck, how do we know he’s not, uh, a bad guy?” Jaemin stage-whispers across the room, even though Chenle can hear him very clearly. 

“I’m not," Chenle promises earnestly, and there’s just _ something _about his face that makes Donghyuck believe him. “I’m literally just a high school student. I can only do that. And some funky stuff with shadows. My aunts even know, and they’re super cool about it.” He holds his hands up. “I swear I’ve never hurt a person in my life.”

Jeno coughs pointedly. Chenle had literally tried to jump him a little while ago. 

“I’ve never hurt a person _ consciously,_” Chenle modifies. 

“Funky stuff with shadows? Like teleporting?” Mark asks curiously. 

Chenle shakes his head. “Sorta. I’m no Twofold, that's for sure, with the shields and popping from place-to-place. It’s more short-range, and stealthier.” He looks around. “It’s hard to explain without showing you. But I don’t think I could do it anyway, since I’m wiped.” 

“And, uh, phasing through duct tape?” Mark asks. Donghyuck laughs to himself. _ Phasing through duct tape_. Super casual and totally normal. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Chenle says. He stretches his arms over his head. “Wow, I stink—“ He stops abruptly, face paling again. Every muscle in Donghyuck’s body tenses immediately, but Chenle just presses a cautious hand to the side of his neck. “Ouch,” he says, quiet, and pulls back the collar of his shirt. 

“Ew,” Jaemin says immediately, recoiling. Underneath the fabric is a mess of dried blood and scabbed-over skin, warped and sickly-looking.

“Maybe a dog _ did _get you,” Mark says as Chenle prods tentatively at the wound. “That looks like a bite mark.” 

“That looks like something tried to kill you,” Jeno corrects, looking a little green. “It looks infected.” 

“I don’t—I don't know how I got this," Chenle stammers, looking flustered. "I promise, I didn't try to hide it—“ 

“Hey, it's okay," Mark says quickly. “You’re fine.” 

Chenle releases relaxes, but still looks vaguely disturbed. Donghyuck gets it—to wake up in a place you don’t recognize, stinky and wounded, and find out that you’ve missed a _ week _ of your life, possibly because you were possessed and attacking people? _ Disconcerting _ and _ disturbed _barely begin to describe it. 

“Hey, you mentioned your aunts?” Donghyuck says, intent on distracting Chenle from the wound on his neck. “Do you want to call them, or anything? I’m sure they’re worried sick about you.” 

“Oh, shit,” Chenle says, patting his pockets. “Wait, I don’t know where my phone is.” 

“You can use mine,” Mark offers, handing it to Chenle, who accepts it gratefully. As soon as he’s turned aside—whoever picks up the phone is in tears, and jabbering very quickly in a language Donghyuck doesn’t understand—Mark gives Donghyuck an uneasy look. 

_ What? _Donghyuck mouths at him. Mark’s brows furrow, and he’s chewing at his bottom lip, which means that whatever he’s thinking about is making him nervous. 

_ Tell you in a sec, _Mark mouths back. Chenle hangs up and returns to them, a happy smile on his face. 

“All set?” Mark asks. “Everything good?” 

“Everything good,” Chenle confirms. “They’re coming to get me as soon as I send the address, if that’s okay?” He looks at Mark. “I told them you were one of my friend’s older brothers.” 

“Oh, I forgot we never said our names,” Mark says, smacking his forehead. “I’m Mark.” 

The rest of them also give Chenle their names, and Chenle sends the address of Mark and Jeno’s apartment to his aunts. “I’m just glad they didn’t call the cops,” Chenle says, sitting back down in the chair covered in duct tape. “They were close, though.” 

“They _ didn’t _call the cops?” Jaemin asks. “Why? Wouldn’t you have been found much faster? They’re usually pretty good with missing people.” He says that last bit with a fair amount of pride. 

Chenle purses his lips. “There’s always the risk that they find out I’ve got abilities and send me off to a testing facility.” 

“Oh, you’re unregistered too?” Donghyuck asks. Chenle turns to Donghyuck with a fair amount of curiosity, eyebrows raised in a silent question. 

“He’s just really fast and strong,” Jeno says. 

“And he knows like, a billion kinds of karate,” Jaemin adds.

“But that’s just because of Mya,” Renjun finishes, “and not because he was born with it.” 

“Mya? Karate?” Chenle asks, looking between all of them helplessly. Donghyuck waves a hand, dismissing it all. 

“Another story for another time,” he says. 

“Your aunts are here,” Mark adds. “They just texted.” 

“Oh! Then I’ll get going,” Chenle says. “Thank you guys so much.” He gives Donghyuck a tentative smile. “For everything.” 

“Get my number from your aunt,” Mark says, “and text if anything comes up or you start feeling funky again.” 

“I will hit you in the face with a skateboard until you feel normal again,” Donghyuck promises solemnly. “As many times as it takes.” 

Chenle gives him a wide, grateful smile. “Thanks,” he says, so honestly that it actually tugs on Donghyuck’s heart a little. Mark sees him to the door, and they watch as he makes his way down the hallway. He doesn’t quite make it to the elevators—instead, he steps into the shadows in the corner and vanishes with a small _ snap. _

“Whoa, cool,” Jaemin says, looking over Donghyuck’s shoulder. “I wish _ I _could teleport.” 

Donghyuck brushes him off and turns on Mark immediately. “Okay, it’s later. What were you making that face for?” 

“What face?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck taps his foot impatiently while he waits for Mark to remember. “Oh, right, yeah. That.” 

“What?” Renjun and Jaemin chorus at the same time.

“I have a theory,” Mark starts, “and it’s a stretch, for sure, but, like—there’s just _ too _many coincidences, y’know?” He takes a seat next to Donghyuck, looking more tired than Donghyuck has seen him in a long time. The party feels like it happened months ago, rather than a few hours.

“Chenle had that massive thing on his neck, right?” Mark says after a moment. “And I don’t know if you guys saw, but when he jumped at Jeno—“ 

“He was aiming for the same spot,” Donghyuck finishes, horrified. “Which means that—“ 

“Chenle probably got bit first,” Mark says. “And got infected. Which means that he wasn’t the only one.” 

There’s a long beat of silence as they all digest this. “So you’re saying it’s like a zombie plague,” Jeno summarizes. 

“Basically, yeah.” 

Jeno shudders. “Then I’m glad I didn’t get bitten.”

“Okay, but why?” Renjun asks, sitting back in his chair. “Why now? Why us? Why hasn’t anyone else noticed?” 

“Maybe it's just started,” Donghyuck suggests. “Maybe Chenle was one of the first.” 

Another long silence falls over them, and Donghyuck fights hard against all the _ what-if _ s and dramatic, slightly fatalistic scenarios his mind is conjuring up. Zombies? A plague? Was _ this _ what Kun and Ten were talking about? 

He casts that theory out of his mind as soon as it comes. No, they’d mentioned something about Macroshot, and security leaks. This was something else entirely. 

“Alright, that's enough,” Jaemin interrupts. “I’m starting to overthink.” 

“My brain hurts,” Jeno says, massaging his temples. 

“That’s probably because you’re starting to get hungover,” Mark says. 

“Fuck, have we really been awake that long?” Jeno asks, tapping his phone. It informs him that yes, they _ have _been up that long, and it is now two o’clock in the morning. 

“I definitely should be getting back,” Renjun says. “I have _ so _much homework I need to do in the morning.” 

“Me too,” Jaemin says. “I don’t even think my mom’s home yet, but I promised her I’d be back by one-thirty.” 

“You’re a little late,” Jisung says dubiously, but Jaemin just shrugs. “What, you won’t get in trouble? Isn’t your mom a cop?” 

“She’s also the coolest person on the planet, pretty much,” Donghyuck says. “The only thing Jaemin gets in trouble for is leaving his shoes in the kitchen and not locking the back door.” 

“Whoa,” Jisung says, looking impressed. 

“Jisung, how are you getting back?” Mark asks. Jisung checks his watch, frowns and pushes himself to his feet. 

“I have a job to run in like, three hours,” he says, “so I think I’ll just do it early and head back from there.” 

“The foster home doesn’t care if you’re out late?” Mark asks. 

Jisung shakes his head. “They don’t really give a damn about anything. They just want us out of their way and quiet.” 

Donghyuck, for the second time in a night, finds his heart squeezing in sympathy. But Jisung shrugs it off, and Donghyuck doesn’t push it, and chats easily with the three of them as they put on their shoes and zip their coats up. 

“Let us know if anything happens,” Renjun says, and then the three of them have rounded the corner to the elevators, disappearing from sight. Jeno shuts the front door, and Mark looks over at Donghyuck, who hasn’t moved. 

“You gonna stay?” Mark asks, even if he already knows the answer. 

“Yes,” Donghyuck says, like he always does. He pulls off his jacket and hoodie and he and Mark collapse onto the couch together, familiar and easy. This time of night is his favorite—Mark will cross his legs on the couch, knee resting on Donghyuck’s thigh, and they’ll talk quietly, sleepily, and then Donghyuck will use the spare toothbrush in the bathroom and Mark won’t even bother with putting a pillow to separate them. 

And Donghyuck, in a rare moment of peace, falls asleep to the sound of Mark’s breathing. 

* * *

Donghyuck wakes up to Mark’s ceiling, sunlight filtering through the blinds. Mark is asleep next to him, curled up and breathing slowly. His knees press into Donghyuck’s side—not comfortable in the slightest, but Donghyuck minds far less than he normally would because it’s _ Mark. _

For a blissful, blinding moment, Donghyuck lies on his back and listens to the traffic outside the window and pretends like this is his life. That he’s an ordinary version of himself, less caustic, less violent, capable of self-introspection without spiraling. That he fits perfectly against Mark Lee, who is built for easy moments like this and not the world Donghyuck dragged him into when he showed up on Ten’s doorstep nine months ago. That his love is gentler, kinder, because in this imagined life, he’s learned how to love properly. Maybe he’d called Mya _Mom _instead of her first name. Maybe he’d had a dad who taught him how to ride a bike and took him out for ice cream when he broke up with his seventh-grade girlfriend. Maybe nine months wouldn’t be the anniversary of Mark’s first death, but rather the start of their relationship. 

But then the moment passes, and Mark wakes up, bolts to the bathroom and vomits. 

_Now that is decisively_ _un-romantic, _Donghyuck thinks tiredly, listening to Mark sputter and cough. 

“You alright?” he calls when the retching noises stop. Mark groans, and Donghyuck takes that as a both a _ yes _ and a _ no. _

“I knew I drank too much,” Mark mumbles, and there’s the sound of the toilet flushing as Donghyuck nudges the bathroom door open. “But I think it was the instant noodles that really did me in.” 

Donghyuck squats down next to Mark, who puts his head on the toilet seat and closes his eyes. Tentatively, Donghyuck puts a hand on Mark’s back, rubbing circles between Mark’s shoulder blades, the same way Mark does for him when his temper flares a little too hot. 

Mark lets out a massive sigh, relaxing under Donghyuck’s hand. The hair on the back of his head is sticking up all over the place, and Donghyuck resists the urge to pat it down. He’s already pushing his luck, crouching here and rubbing Mark’s back. This isn’t—this isn’t something he _ does. _ That _ they _ do, in general. Mark isn't huge on physical affection the way that Jaemin is, and Donghyuck is normally _ so _ careful around him, hiding his love behind a carefully-built wall. Not that it seems to be working—it’s like trying to hide the light of the sun behind a single tissue. _ Really _ fucking bright, and _ really _fucking obvious. And Donghyuck’s love, like the sun, does all kinds of dangerous things, like fission, on the verge of supernova or combustion, or whatever it is that stars do.

Dangerous. Donghyuck thinks that’s pretty fitting. The way he loves Mark is _ dangerous_—one misstep could fuck everything up on an irreversible, catastrophic level, and then _ bam, _he and Mark never talk again, and he’s pretty much toast. 

Mark says something under his breath, still face-down on the toilet seat. Donghyuck leans closer, hand stilling. “What?” he asks, briefly afraid that he said all of that aloud, and now Mark knows, which means he’ll have to— 

“I want kombucha,” Mark repeats, and Donghyuck rolls his eyes and sighs. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck relents. “But don’t choke on your barf while I’m gone.” 

“I’ll feel better in like, three minutes,” Mark promises. “Super-healing is good for hangovers.” 

“Then why do you want kombucha?” Donghyuck asks, sitting back on his heels. 

Mark finally lifts his head. “For nostalgia’s sake,” he says. “The only time I like it is after I’ve been drinking.” 

“You’re nostalgic for the days when you’d get hungover?” Donghyuck asks, confused. Why would Mark be nostalgic for _ pain _? 

Mark shrugs, looking mildly uncomfortable. Donghyuck immediately wants to push, just a _ little, _ because there’s clearly a deeper reason. But Jeno _ ruins it _by coming out of his bedroom with his eyes closed, immediately tripping over the chair covered in duct tape and crashing to the ground inelegantly. “FUCK,” Jeno says loudly, making no move to get up. 

“Kombucha,” Mark says again. “And coffee. Before Jeno slips and dies, please.” 

“What if I get attacked by one of those demon creatures?” Donghyuck asks, even as he stands and tracks down his hoodie. “You said there were more of them.” 

“I said _ maybe _there were more of them,” Mark corrects. He’s already looking better, color flooding back into his cheeks and lips. “And if there are, then you can totally take them.” 

_ Damn. _ Donghyuck was hoping Mark would forget about the myriad of fighting styles Donghyuck had mastery over, and volunteer to go with him. Instead, he’s off to karate-chop possessed zombie-demons on his _ own. _

“C’mon,” Mark says, walking over to Jeno and offering him a hand up, “you won’t see any, Hyuck. What kind of zombie-demon walks around in daylight?” 

* * *

“This kind of zombie-demon walks around in daylight, oh my god,” Donghyuck says aloud, fifteen minutes later, ducking a wild, out-of-control punch from a grimy, possessed woman covered in black blood. He shifts to the side, swiftly kicking her in the knee, and, when she buckles, hitting her hard in the throat. Her eyes roll back and she goes limp, crumpling to the pavement. Donghyuck shoves her behind the dumpster and does his best to look casual as he brushes dirt and blood from the front of his hoodie. 

The whole thing hadn’t even been his fault! He’d been on his way back from the grocery store, kombucha and Starbucks in hand, enjoying the sunny weather and the lovely fall colors when he’d literally witnessed the zombie _ breaking and entering. _She’d been crawling up a fire escape to a second-level apartment, all robotic and jerky like Chenle had been. 

So he’d done the right thing: he’d climbed up after her and tossed her off the fire escape. 

The fall hadn't been high, but she _ had _stopped moving, and Donghyuck, being a good person, had gone down to see if he'd accidentally killed her. The good news: he hadn’t. The bad news: he hadn’t, which meant she was alive enough to jump on him and try to bite him. 

The karate chop, however, seems to have done the trick: the scrapes on her face are bleeding red, and she’s stopped twitching like a short-circuiting robot. 

Donghyuck is feeling kind today—probably because he woke up next to Mark—so he texts Jaemin. 

_ hey there was another zombie-demon i knocked her out and she’s fine. can you send your mom to come get her ? _

Jaemin texts back within a couple seconds as Donghyuck picks up his tray of coffee and his bag of kombucha. 

_ ya sure what’s your location _

Donghyuck squints at the street signs, tells Jaemin the intersection, and adds that she’s behind the dumpster. Satisfied, he continues on his way. By the time the cops arrive, lighting up the alley red and blue, Donghyuck is long gone. 

Johnny Seo climbs out of his car. He looks tired, and he is most definitely not supposed to be in this precinct. But everyone is getting sick or hurt from all the late nights—crimes lead to paperwork and paperwork leads to more hours of work. And tired officers make for dangerous situations, like the bullet that had nearly buried itself in his heart had Taeil—Twofold, that is—not been there, shields flashing up at the last second, whatever invisible power he possessed saving Johnny’s life for the second time in a month. 

It wasn’t like him to slip up—but it also wasn’t like this city to turn itself inside out like this. Things oozed from the shadows, slippery and malignant, the crime rate spiking. 

The woman behind the dumpster is just starting to wake when Johnny gets to her. He takes one look at her face—scratched, black and red—and at her neck, bitten and scabbed-over. His stomach sinks and he sets his shoulders into a firm line, tilting the walkie-talkie clipped on his shoulder towards his mouth. 

“We’ve got another one,” he says. “A woman. Mid-twenties. Same story. Over.” 

On the other line, Captain Na sighs tiredly. “Bring her in,” she informs him. “Over.” 

Johnny sends a single text, and slips his phone back into his pocket before crouching down to help the confused woman. 

_ You were right, _ the text says. _ It’s getting worse. _

* * *

Over the course of the next three days, they have run-ins with three more demon-zombies. _ They, _ of course, being Donghyuck, because all of his other friends are impressively _ useless _when they’re attacked by a possessed person trying to bite them. Jeno may have steady, surgeon-ready hands and the ability to write computer programs, and Renjun may be able to do math without counting on his fingers and sing in perfect pitch, but Donghyuck can throw soda cans hard enough to knock out a full-grown person. So who’s the real winner here? 

“Why’d you punch him again?” Renjun asks, scrunching his nose. 

“Might be suspicion,” Donghyuck says, propping the guy up against the alley wall and wiping some of the blood from his face. “But two hard hits seem to do the trick.” Mya had been big on counting, keeping track of everything with perfect numerical accuracy. Bullets left in a clip. The number of hits it takes to knock someone out. How many miles he can run before his legs start to hurt. How many hours he can go without sleep, how many days he spent searching for her, even after she’d asked him not to look for her, the expression on her face odd—the steps to his aunt and uncle's front door, his aunt's hand on his forehead for three seconds—

“Donghyuck,” Jeno says. He doesn’t put his hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder like Mark does—but then again, Jeno’s not the one Donghyuck’s in love with. Not that Donghyuck loves Mark just because of that—but it’s part of it. Part of a bigger thing. “You good?” 

“Yep, all good,” Donghyuck says breezily, brushing his friends’ concern off of him and continuing down the sidewalk. He sticks his hands in his pockets so he can stretch his bruised knuckles without them seeing. He’d been doing far too much punching these days. Maybe it was time to start carrying his swords around. 

“Wait, you’re just gonna leave him here?" Jeno asks, looking over his shoulder as he jogs to catch up. “It's cold.” 

“The police will find him,” Donghyuck assures Jeno. “I asked Jaemin to tell his mom.” 

“She must be getting suspicious,” Renjun says doubtfully. “That’s the fourth time you’ve done that. Why can’t you just call 911 on your own?” 

“Because that requires explanation,” Donghyuck says, “and what would I even tell them? That I knocked a grown man out in one punch?” 

“Okay, okay,” Jeno says quickly, stepping in before Renjun can retort. “Can we just agree to disagree?” 

“No,” Renjun says flatly. “Donghyuck, you can’t just pass all your problems off to someone else as soon as you feel like it. It's not right.” 

Donghyuck scowls at him. His knuckles throb painfully, and not for the first time, he wishes he had Mark’s speed-healing. “I know it’s not _ right, _Renjun. At least, not by your standards. But it's better than nothing, which is the alternative.” 

“The alternative is _ thinking things through, _ Hyuck,” Renjun huffs. “If you don’t like the consequences, find a different way to go about it. But you can’t pick and choose, and as soon as it gets uncomfortable, you certainly can’t _ ignore it._” 

“Watch me,” Donghyuck says stubbornly, setting his chin. Renjun crosses his arms, refusing to give an inch. 

Jeno sighs, and slings his arms around both of their shoulders. “Let’s go, guys. We’re not gonna get anywhere with you arguing about things you’ll always disagree on.” 

Renjun gives Donghyuck a long, measured look. Donghyuck shrinks a little under it—he and Renjun don’t fight often, but when they do, it’s always a little too honest and a little too vicious for Donghyuck’s liking. 

So they let Jeno steer them away from the alley and towards his apartment, where they’re all going to do homework and not think about zombie-demons or moral disengagement. It only works somewhat; Donghyuck is distracted for most of the time, tapping his pencil against the table and thinking far too deeply about things he shouldn’t be. 

Mark comes back a little later—he’s got a class until 7:30 on Mondays, Donghyuck remembers, and by then, he’s so riled-up by Renjun’s comments he physically can’t sit still, driving Jeno and Renjun crazy by pacing around the kitchen. 

“You know, it doesn’t bother me when you pace in Jaemin's kitchen,” Jeno says, “but our kitchen is too small and you’re making me dizzy.” 

Donghyuck stops in his tracks. “Sorry,” he says, just as Mark opens the front door. Immediately, he straightens, leaning casually against the fridge like he wasn’t seriously debating jumping headfirst through the window or committing mild arson, just like the old days before Mark was there to redirect him. 

Jeno and Renjun give him exasperated looks. Donghyuck ignores them, smiling brightly at Mark as he waves to all of them, kicking off his destroyed Vans and dropping his backpack to the ground with a loud _ thunk. _

“Hi, guys,” he says tiredly. “How’s homework?" 

“Donghyuck’s about worn through the kitchen floor,” Renjun says, selling Donghyuck out immediately. “Please go talk to him before I throw something at him.” 

“That’s sort of a sub-par idea,” Mark says mildly, “since he’ll just catch it and throw it back at you.” 

_ Ha ha, _ Donghyuck mouths at Renjun. _ He's on my side. _

Renjun sticks his tongue out, and Mark comes into the kitchen to fill up his water bottle. 

“What's up?” he asks, propping his hip against the counter. “Why are you pacing?” 

Donghyuck looks down at his hands. “No good reason. Just thinking." 

Mark takes his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. Donghyuck wants to kiss him, even when he puts his hat on backwards, which would look dumb on pretty much everyone _ but _Mark. Though that’s probably because Donghyuck is in love with him. 

_ That is not the point of this conversation, _Donghyuck reprimands himself. He looks up at Mark, who’s still waiting patiently. 

“It was just something Renjun said,” Donghyuck starts. Mark takes a step closer so they’re not overheard. “It wasn’t anything big, but, like, he told me that I’m—“ 

Mark’s phone starts buzzing abruptly, interrupting him. Mark pulls it out of his pocket and squints at it. It’s Jaemin, which wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary except— 

“Hold up, Jaemin _ never _calls,” Mark says as his phone continues buzzing. “Should I—should I pick up?” 

Donghyuck wants to say no. He really does. But Jaemin is also his friend, and if he’s calling, it’s for a good reason. “Yeah, pick up,” Donghyuck says. 

“You can keep talking after,” Mark says apologetically, and swipes to pick up the call. “Hello?” he says, raising his phone to his ear. Donghyuck crowds in close because he’s impatient and doesn’t want to wait for Mark to finish the call. 

“—and _ Chenle _just messaged me on Instagram, he apparently texted you, and it's really not looking good.” Jaemin is talking at the speed of light, more freaked-out than Donghyuck has ever heard him. 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Mark says, looking over at Donghyuck with a panicked expression. “What about Chenle? And Breakbeach Prison? What's that about?” 

“Just—oh, shit, my mom’s calling and I really need to smoke,” Jaemin says. “Text Chenle. Call me back in ten.” 

The line goes dead, and Donghyuck steps back. Renjun and Jeno have gotten up to come join them in the kitchen, and something uneasy builds between the four of them as Mark opens up his messages. There’s a text from an unknown number: 

_ Hi it’s Chenle I just remembered smth. um yeah hard to explain when i was a zombie-demon i remember i was 4sure being told what 2 do. i don’t remember who tho :(( _

“Why does he text with numbers like that?" Donghyuck asks, frowning at the texts. 

“That’s not the _ point, _ ” Renjun says, exasperated. “Chenle’s literally…he was literally following _ orders _ while he was possessed and you're judging him for texting with _ numbers _?” 

“It’s not 2008,” Donghyuck points out, crossing his arms. “But yeah, that’s pretty weird.”

“It would explain the twitching,” Mark says. “I mean, it _ looked _like his body wasn’t his, right?” 

There's an unsettled silence as they digest this. Donghyuck hates that it makes sense. Hates that there’s more pieces to this puzzle, and a few of them are starting to come together. 

Mark’s phone buzzes again—Jaemin’s texted him a link to a tweet. He opens it, and the headline only makes everything one thousand times worse: 

_ BREAKING: BREAKBEACH PRISON BREAK, AUTHORITIES REPORT 250 INMATES ESCAPED DURING POWER OUTAGE _

“Oh my god,” Jeno breathes, leaning close and reading aloud. “Breakbeach Prison experienced a block-wide prison break just twenty minutes ago…authorities have landed on the island and are securing the coast…” He looks up at Mark and Donghyuck. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of going.” 

Mark says something in reply, but Donghyuck has a text from a number he thought he’d deleted—a message that makes his hands go cold. 

** _Ten (dead guy dude): _ **

_ They need your help. _

“Mark,” Donghyuck says quietly. Mark meets his eyes, and just like that, he _ knows. _

“Okay,” he replies, exhaling. “Alright.” 

“What? What?” Jeno asks, gaze flickering between the two of them like he’s watching a tennis match. “_Please _don’t tell me you're going.” 

“Call Jaemin,” Donghyuck says. “Renjun, we need a plan.” 

“No,” Renjun says stubbornly. “There’s videos from the island. It’s a disaster. Someone’s even got a video of one of those _ things. _ You’ll get hurt.” 

“It’s the right thing to do,” Donghyuck says, partially because he believes it, and partially because it's satisfying to throw Renjun’s words back in his face. 

“_Don’t _do this to spite me,” Renjun warns. “Don’t, Hyuck.” 

“I’m not doing this to spite you," Donghyuck says, “mostly.” 

“For fuck's sake,” Renjun mutters. 

“Ten texted me, actually,” Donghyuck continues, “and apparently, it's not going well for the good guys.” 

“We have to go,” Mark repeats, and once again, Donghyuck is immensely glad Mark always has his back. “People could die.” 

“Yeah, so could _ you,_” Renjun says, but he’s already pulled up Jaemin's contact info, nudging Jeno to help. 

“I’ve got the body armor, tracker-free,” Jeno says, “and most of Hyuck’s weaponry, somehow.” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s because we had a room inspection,” Donghyuck says, giving Jeno a thumbs up. “The last time, I forgot to take my swords out of my closet and had to tell them I was really into Deadpool cosplay.” 

“Right, because of that,” Jeno says, while Mark blinks, bemused. “I’ll go get it.” 

Donghyuck rolls up his jeans and accepts the mask and chestplate from Jeno, strapping it on over his hoodie. Over it goes his denim jacket—not _ super _violence-proof, but it’s been through hell and back already, and besides, it’s cold outside. Mark hooks his mask over his ears and tucks it under his chin for the time being, double-knotting his shoelaces (he’d tripped over them before, falling three stories off a roof—death number six, if Donghyuck’s remembering correctly) and tosses Donghyuck a battered pair of wrist guards his mom used to make him wear while skating. 

“I don’t like the idea of you blocking punches or knives with your bare arms,” Mark says as Renjun updates them on the status of the island and what, exactly, their plan is going to be. 

“I’ll look stupid,” Donghyuck grumbles, but puts them on anyway. Hopefully nobody catches him wearing them on camera. 

“Chenle’s coming,” Renjun announces, “to get you off the island and back onto Jaemin’s boat.” 

“Jaemin has a _ boat_?” Jeno says. “What the hell?” 

“It was his dad’s,” Renjun says.

“Yeah, I know, I just thought Hyuck torched it when he was fighting the flame-thrower guy!” 

Donghyuck sighs wistfully at the name. “Ah, flame-thrower guy. I wonder how life is for him?” 

“He's in jail with one arm,” Renjun deadpans, “so probably not great.” 

“To be fair, he _ kinda _deserved it,” Donghyuck says, “y’know, trying to burn down campus and all of that. At least I got you guys two days of cancelled class.” 

“Yeah, that was pretty nice,” Mark says, and when Renjun frowns at him, he holds his hands up. “Look, I wasn’t involved in that one. The whole cutting-his-arm-off thing? Not super cool. Being burned to a crisp, though? _ Definitely _not cool.” 

“Jaemin’s here in the minivan,” Jeno reports, standing up. “You guys got everything?” 

Donghyuck hefts the duffel bag he’s got all his weapons in. “Yep.” 

“Sweet,” Mark says, holding his hand out for Donghyuck to slap. “Let’s go stop a prison break.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)
> 
> i've got a poll up on twt regarding what interlude/prelude to post too so go vote!


	9. prelude: damn, he saved my life!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Donghyuck was the cheesy type, (which he isn't, no matter what Jaemin says) he would maybe say that he and Mark becoming friends was some kind of fate.

The first time Donghyuck lays eyes on Mark Lee, it’s at the pep rally at the start of school. He’s fourteen years old, his aunt and uncle call him the wrong name, and his whole body is on the verge of combustion because Mya isn’t here anymore to tell him to run until he collapses in exhaustion. 

Anyway—Mark Lee. He is fifteen and gross as all hell in the way that fifteen-year-olds are, no matter the circumstance. He’s standing with the swim team. He’s got acne on his forehead and his mom still cuts his hair and Donghyuck looks at him and gets a very strange, tight feeling in his chest. 

He mistakes it, at first, as the desire to make fun of Mark. So that’s what he does—all through their shared Survey Lit class, through P.E., in their homeroom. (This is also where he meets Jeno, but that’s another story for another time). 

Mark, eventually, gives up on trying to ignore Donghyuck and starts retaliating. And _ that’s _when the fun starts—teachers start kicking them out of class for being disruptive. In P.E., they walk each other to the nurse’s office so often it becomes a bi-weekly routine. Donghyuck trips him in the hallway and Mark spends a whole afternoon calling him Dickface with so much sincerity it makes Donghyuck’s blood boil. They heckle each other nonstop, joke, tease, spit. Donghyuck has never hated someone and wanted to be their friend so badly in his life. 

Sophomore year is much of the same, except for one moment, at the end of the summer when Mark spots Donghyuck at Panera and buys him a lemonade and a bagel, and they sit together in a booth trashing each other’s music taste. Donghyuck kicks Mark’s skateboard out from underneath his feet. Mark doesn’t even blink—he’s so used to it, their wonky, weirdly functional dynamic—but he laughs and calls Donghyuck an asshole with so much affection that Donghyuck has to stop and breathe. The strange feeling in his chest is back. 

“Hey, are we friends?” Donghyuck asks. Mark sits up, skateboard in his arms, and looks at Donghyuck blankly. 

“What?” he says dumbly. 

“Never mind,” Donghyuck says quickly, and that is that.

Then junior happens, and something changes. Well, a lot of things change—Mark turns seventeen, his acne starts to clear up and his mom stops cutting his hair. He has a _ thing _ with another boy, and then a girl, and cuffs his jeans and gets his braces off and skateboarding starts being cool again. His voice cracks and drops, and his laugh does a funny whooping thing that makes Donghyuck want to vomit. And still, he gives Donghyuck a lot of shit and a lot of dimpling, boyish smiles and Donghyuck shouts at him from across the hallway, tossing wads of paper at him because he’s _ cool _ now, and _ smart_, and hanging out with _ girls, _and Donghyuck hates that Mark still isn’t his friend and that he’s somehow been left behind. 

And then the Thing happens. The Big Thing. The Thing that changes everything. 

Well, not everything. Just one thing: 

Mark and Donghyuck become friends. 

It happens like this: Mark is out late because he was studying for a math test. Donghyuck is out late because he’s got too much energy and mild crime is really the only way to redirect it. Donghyuck sees Mark, starts to wave, and then notices that Mark has his headphones in, looking down at his phone. It’s Friday night, nearly midnight, and Mark Lee decides it’s his night, too, for petty crime. Specifically, jaywalking—which, if you ask Donghyuck, is the dumbest mild crime. There are _ much _better ways to break the law. 

Down the street comes a car full of college kids, music too loud, windows fogged over with smoke and vapor or whatever the hell college kids put in their lungs, Donghyuck doesn’t know, he’s sixteen and watching his best friend (probably, since Mark knows most of his secrets _ and _his Panera order) cut a diagonal across the intersection while the light is red, looking up at the car a second too late. He has regular human reflexes. He has no danger signal, not yet, and thus, he’s too slow. 

The car hits him. The car kills him. Mark Lee is dead. 

Except…he’s not. Because while Mark is too slow, still ordinary, and not paying attention, Donghyuck _ is. _ And he’s fast. _ Very _fast. And decisively not-ordinary, not in the way he plummets from a two-story building, tucking and rolling flawlessly. He’s across the street in a flash—faster than the moving car, and then his arms are around Mark’s waist, sending them both out of the street and to the curb. He twists in mid-air, taking the brunt of the fall, knocking the wind out of himself. 

The car skids past them. The driver doesn’t even stop. 

They do not get hit. They do not get killed. Mark Lee is alive. 

“Holy hell,” Mark wheezes, rolling off Donghyuck and dragging himself into a sitting position. His face is white, headphones dangling around his neck. Donghyuck can hear his music—_Train in Vain _by the Clash, way too loud. As usual. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Donghyuck agrees, and he lets Mark sit in stunned silence for a few minutes on the curb, the two of them pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. Then Mark starts to laugh—verging on hysterical, but boy, is Donghyuck glad to hear that sound—and Donghyuck joins in a second later. They laugh until the feeling comes back into their fingers and the warmth back into their lips, until the tension eases from the air. Mark had almost died, and Donghyuck is certain that if he had, Donghyuck’s life would’ve sucked _ big-time. _ Like, worse than when Mya left him with compthe complete strangers that he was supposed to call _ Aunt _ and _ Uncle. _

“Thanks for saving me,” Mark says, once he catches his breath. “I don’t wanna think about what would’ve happened—” 

“Then let’s not think about it,” Donghyuck says firmly, knocking his knee into Mark’s. “You’re lucky I was in the area.” 

“Why were you up so late?” Mark asks curiously, taking in Donghyuck’s strange, all-black ensemble and the facemask he’s got tucked beneath his chin. 

“7-11 run,” he says casually. “I wanted a soda. Still do, if you wanna come?” He stands, offering Mark his hand. “Sugar is good for post-near-death experiences, trust me.” That had been one of Mya’s tricks, much to Donghyuck’s delight. Once the danger had been dealt with, once he’d been both scolded and made to do a few extra reps of whatever self-defense gimmick he was working on, she’d hand him a bag of Skittles or a chocolate bar or a lemonade, her eyes a little softer than usual.

“Soda sounds really great right now,” Mark says gratefully, taking Donghyuck’s hand. 

“You’re not hurt?” Donghyuck asks, flipping Mark’s hands over and scanning him from head-to-toe. “I don’t wanna buy you a soda if you should go to the hospital.” 

“No, I think I’m okay,” Mark assures him, smiling. Donghyuck relaxes, and together, they head into the brightly-lit 7-11. 

“You gonna give me shit for this?” he asks Donghyuck, picking out a cherry Coke and some chips. His tone is light, but Donghyuck can tell that the question is serious. 

(Mark, though, will move on from the accident in a few weeks. Donghyuck, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about it until he finds the car that almost killed his best friend and punches through the windshield.) 

Donghyuck looks at Mark for a long moment, framed in the awful fluorescent lighting in the chip aisle, hat a little askew, skateboard fastened flat against his backpack. There’s a scratch on his cheekbone, and his lips are peeling, like they always do when the weather starts getting colder. 

“Nah,” Donghyuck says, and tension eases out of Mark’s shoulders. “On one condition.” 

Mark raises his eyebrows. “What condition?” 

“No more enemies,” Donghyuck says, heart picking up speed, pounding against his rib cage. “From now on, you’re my best friend.” 

“Okay,” Mark agrees instantly. “Deal.” 

They check out, and Donghyuck walks with Mark back to his house, feeling sleepy and more content than he has in a while. 

“You know, though,” Mark says in between sips of Coke, “that you’ve sort of been my best friend since the beginning, right?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, and Mark laughs, jostling him. 

“Then why’d you ask?” 

“No reason,” Donghyuck replies, and for now, it’s the truth, plain and simple. 

But later—much later, after Mark dies for the first time and Donghyuck goes from _ doing _ crime to _ stopping _it—Donghyuck will look back and think of it as the first moment he started falling in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	10. black goo violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, it's been less than a week and Donghyuck's already sick of zombie-demons exploding on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this...now THIS is a doozy. please don't be too mad and keep your eyes peeled! things shift! things are revealed! donghyuck is still very much in love with his best friend!!

Jaemin’s boat is docked at the shore, which is guarded by a few police—until it isn’t, thanks to some tag-team by Donghyuck and Mark. 

“You’re getting sorta good at this,” Donghyuck says, impressed as Mark knocks out an officer, catching her before she can crack her head open on the rocks. He lays her down gently, the split skin on his knuckles healing instantly.

“Don’t want to just leave you on your own,” Mark tells him, and Donghyuck trips over his own feet. _ God, _ just when he thinks he can’t love Mark more, shit like this happens! It needs to stop! He’s on the verge of combusting _ and _kissing his best friend square on the mouth! 

Mark steadies Donghyuck, and then turns back to wave their friends over. There’s the sound of a few car doors sliding shut, and then they’re joined by everyone. 

“Okay,” Jaemin says, leading them down to the docs and towards a sleek, small-looking speedboat. “Here she is.” 

“Always been a little weird how speedboats have genders,” Jisung comments, climbing in. 

“Why are you here again?” Donghyuck asks, following him. “Actually, why are _ all _of you here?” 

“Moral support,” Jeno says, “and because I was too anxious sitting at home.” 

Jaemin nods. “I ran out of weed, so I thought I might as well come.”

That’s a lie, Donghyuck thinks, watching the corner of Jaemin’s eye twitch. He’s just as worried as the rest of them—hell, even _ Donghyuck _is a little nervous, because for all of the fights with super-powered bad guys or egotistical CEOs with fancy tech and the desire to rule the world, he’s never faced anything quite like this. 

They smell and hear the fighting before they see it—smoke hanging in the air, the heavy scent of blood; screaming, yelling, things exploding. 

“Whoa,” Jaemin breathes, stunned, as the prison comes in sight. Red and blue lights cast murky shadows in the smoke, and gasoline on the top of the water burns. Gunshots echo off of walls, and dark shapes hurry back and forth, shouting urgently. 

Renjun takes a shaky breath. “Okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “Here’s what we’ve got." 

Jeno whips out his iPad, pulling up a GPS view of the island. He taps the eastern shore. “We’re gonna pull up here, Chenle will zap you in, you’ll find Kun or Ten or whatever needs to be done, and then you'll meet exactly where you got dropped off.” 

Mark swallows hard. “Got it.” 

“Don’t get hurt,” Renjun says. “If you do, get out of there right away.” 

Mark and Donghyuck exchange a look. Getting hurt has never stopped them before—but then again, they’ve never done something quite like this. 

“Seriously, guys, please don't get hurt,” Jaemin says, turning off the boat engine. In the distance, something explodes. He winces. “Please,” he repeats. 

“If you’re not out by ten-thirty,” Renjun says, “then Jisung’s going in to look for you. That gives you two and a half hours. Should be plenty of time, right?” 

“Hopefully,” Donghyuck says, checking his weapons. The swords and the gun, both stolen from the police cruiser all those weeks ago, when things felt much simpler. He pats his legs. One, two, three knives, plus the safety knife, which he’s always got on him, no matter what. He hopes he doesn’t have to use it.

“Alright, ready to go?” Chenle asks. 

“Yeah,” Mark says, and he and Donghyuck reach for each other at the same time, Mark’s hand on Donghyuck’s nape, Donghyuck’s hand on Mark’s waist. “We’ve got this,” Mark says quietly. He reaches up and tugs Donghyuck’s mask up and over his nose, fingers lingering on his jaw. The distant fires reflect in Mark’s pupils, and he looks determined, like his faith in Donghyuck is unshakeable. And that—that makes Donghyuck feel strong. Stronger than he probably is. 

Donghyuck’s breath catches in his throat, and his heart stutters in his chest, and holy _ fuck, _he loves Mark Lee with everything in him. 

“Okay,” Mark says, releasing Donghyuck and turning to Chenle. “We’re ready.” 

Chenle offers them his hand, expression grim. It looks odd on his young face, and all of a sudden, it's like Donghyuck can _ feel _his friends’ worry, their anxiety, their helplessness as they sit in a boat, watching the island burn and hoping Mark and Donghyuck don’t burn with it. Yet here they are, helping the both of them out because of a sketchy, desperate text from a man none of them trust.

“We’ll see you soon,” Jeno says, and Donghyuck is stupidly glad for his unfailing optimism. Even now, Jeno tries for a smile. 

“Good luck,” Jaemin adds, looping his arm through Jisung’s, who, for the first time, doesn’t try to squirm away. He just purses his lips, and says, “Come back.” 

“Be safe,” Renjun says, so softly Donghyuck almost misses it over the sound of the water and the whip of the wind in his hair. 

He and Mark grab ahold of Chenle’s arms. “Hold tight,” Chenle advises, and then they dissolve into shadow. 

On the suddenly-quiet boat, the four friends turn to face the prison, and begin the long wait. 

Chenle leaves them on the shore with a sheepish apology. “I’m not too great at fighting,” he says. “I’ll just slow you down.” 

Mark pats Chenle on the back reassuringly. “You’re all good. See you on the other side.” 

“When we get back, I can teach you how to throw a punch,” Donghyuck says. 

Chenle gives them a cheerful thumbs up, even as gunshots sound off behind them. “Good luck,” he says. “See you in two hours.” 

Chenle dissolves back into the shadows, and it’s just Mark and Donghyuck, crouched against wet, dark rock, looking up at the prison. 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, breathing out. Mark pulls his mask up over his nose and mouth, eyes glinting determinedly. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

Mark nods, and together, they crawl up the rocks onto the island. 

It’s complete and utter chaos: fires, bodies, cops firing into the distance and shouting, panicked, into walkie-talkies. Zombie-demons jumping on everything that they can find, biting and tearing flesh. And prisoners, wearing orange, seizing weapons and throwing rocks at the police, at the zombie-demons, at each other. 

Donghyuck ducks a rock and steps forward, Mark just behind him. A swarm of police rush past, wearing riot gear and carrying massive rifles. They all look very, very tired.

“Head to the shore!” One of them shouts, sounding vaguely familiar. “We’ve got to cut our losses! Twofold’s on the west end, closing the breach, but we’ve got to get everyone else off the island!” 

A bunch of assenting shouts, and the police rush past them, ignoring them completely. A whole bunch of prisoners and zombie-demons alike rush to follow them, outnumbering the police at least three-to-one. 

“They’re going to get slaughtered,” Donghyuck realizes at the same time Mark does. “Oh my god, this is what Ten meant. He must’ve—he must’ve known this would happen. Twofold’s on the opposite end, which means—“ 

“We’ve gotta get down there,” Mark finishes, and together, they sprint after the group of officers. Red and blue lights shine from the boats docked there, some already loaded and pulling away. But on land, it’s gory, and Donghyuck only has a second to assess his surroundings before he's attacked. 

His gun is in his hand before he can even think, the bullet burying itself into the shoulder of an orange-suited prisoner holding a nail-filled plank. But there's no time to admire his accuracy or speed, because there’s a whole gaggle (swarm? Murder? Pride?) of zombie-demons rushing at him. Mark takes one out with a baseball bat—Donghyuck doesn’t even _ know _where that came from—and its face explodes with black goo, the person only revealed after it’s hit the ground. 

“I am actually going to vomit,” Donghyuck says, unsheathing a sword with his left hand, taking aim with the gun in his right. _ Bam! _Another zombie-demon falls, its kneecap shattered. Donghyuck sidesteps a second, slicing across its abdomen and wincing as it falls to the ground with an unpleasant squishing noise. Mark doesn’t even reprimand him for it—he’s too busy bashing heads in with his increasingly-grimy bat. 

“Officer Seo, who are those kids?” he hears an officer ask behind them. Donghyuck turns around towards the sound of the voice—a wide-eyed woman watching them, her face streaked with dust and blood. 

Officer Seo—the one who’d shouted before, an officer Donghyuck recognizes from previous run-ins—turns to look. “Wait, how’d you guys get here?” 

Donghyuck starts to answer, but Mark freezes, which Donghyuck assumes means his danger alarm is going off—which in turn gives Donghyuck _ just _enough forewarning to pull Mark against him and fire another two rounds, one into each leg of the zombie-demon that had been poised to jump on Mark. 

“What the f—“ Officer Seo says, eyes wide, and Donghyuck realizes that he’s never seen either of them in action before. Unfortunately, there’s no time to feel smug _ or _ look cool, since they're in the middle of a _ shoot-out _between some cops, some prisoners, and a bunch of possessed zombies.

“No time!” Donghyuck shouts, releasing Mark and herding the officers towards the boat. “Get out of here!” 

Mark ducks a punch from a prisoner, and before Donghyuck can move to help him, slams his bat into the prisoner’s ribcage, toppling him. 

“Nicely done,” Donghyuck says, falling back next to him as the last of the police scramble onto boats. 

“Thanks,” Mark wheezes, wiping black gore off his face. Sweat beads along his brow, and he adjusts his mask. 

Donghyuck looks around at the fallen bodies—most still moving, thankfully—and asks, “Are we good? Are they off?”

“For now,” Mark says cautiously, “but stay alert. Something…something feels bad.” 

“Uh-oh,” Donghyuck says, grimacing. “Don’t like the sound of that.” 

“No,” Mark agrees, and carefully, they head towards the shore, where the last of the boats are taking off towards the city. Donghyuck checks his phone, which, miraculously, hasn’t cracked. 

“It’s almost ten,” Donghyuck says. “Text Chenle and tell him he should come now, before another wave comes. Then we can go.” 

“Come on, you two!” Officer Seo shouts from the boat. “Get on the boat!” 

Donghyuck tugs Mark, picking up his pace. “I feel like we should listen to him and get on the—" 

“DUCK!” Mark yelps abruptly, tackling Donghyuck painfully to the rocks. He barely avoids chipping a tooth, thankful for the chest plate. 

“Ouch, my face,” Donghyuck says irritably, spitting gravel out of his mouth and sitting up just in time to see a figure dressed in all black turn and sprint away from them. Donghyuck squints, trying to discern just _ what _it might be—but the figure seems to waver in the air, shimmering in and out of focus. 

“Uh, Hyuck,” Mark says, tugging urgently on his jacket. “Look.” 

One of the zombie-demons-turned-human-again (how’s _ that _for a name?) is struggling to its feet, something silvery and long sticking out of its shoulder. 

And then it explodes. 

From its body, a monster erupts—massive, grotesque, and oozing, spines protruding from its back and along its face, which has no features save for a gaping, feral maw filled with crooked, razor-sharp teeth. 

It turns its blank face towards Mark and Donghyuck, still crouched on the ground. And Donghyuck doesn’t need Mark’s danger sense to predict what it’s going to do next. 

“MOVE!” Donghyuck shouts, shoving Mark away from him and rolling to the side just in time to miss the creature, which lunges at the rocks, far, _ far _faster than Donghyuck was expecting. He reaches up for his swords, but grasps only at empty air—they’re still sitting amongst the rocks a little ways away. The only problem is, the creature is right on top of them. 

“_Fuck,_” Donghyuck breathes. Mark still has his baseball bat, but he looks terrified, face a pale disk against the night. Still, his hands don’t shake as he steadies himself, prepared to swing. 

_ Not happening, _ Donghyuck thinks fiercely, hand going to the knife sheathed on his thigh. “HEY! SLIME-BASTARD!” He yells at the top of his lungs, and this time, he’s ready for it. The creature may be fast, but Donghyuck is faster—though just _ barely. _

This thought is almost enough to distract him, but luckily, he’s got a few tons of tar-like ooze charging at him to remind him of what he’s supposed to be doing. 

Which is driving the knife in his right hand into the creature’s eye. 

It shrieks and stumbles back, and Donghyuck’s arm almost pops out of his socket as he hangs onto the knife, soaring through the air over the creature’s head and landing right next to his swords. He scoops them up, taking a second to ready himself as the creature eventually wrenches his knife free, throwing it to the side. 

“Split up,” Donghyuck says to Mark, whose presence is a physical thing at Donghyuck's back. Even now—even in the face of a monster, he is steady. “You go right, I go left. I’ll distract it, you hit it, and I’ll finish it. Good?" 

“Good,” Mark agrees, and when the creature turns on them, they split apart. 

“Over here!” Donghyuck shouts, waving his swords tauntingly. “Come and get me, Ooze-Face!” 

Unfortunately, Ooze-Face seems to have learned from its past mistake. This boy is pointy. He pokes. It hurts. The _ other _boy, however. Yes. Less pointy. Better. 

The monster ignores Donghyuck entirely (rude!) and goes straight for Mark, leaning down towards him, maw gaping wide. And for a second, time stands still, and Donghyuck’s heart stops in his chest. 

Then something in him goes, _ no! _ and his body scrambles to obey. He lunges at Mark with every ounce of speed and strength he’s got in him, muscles and skin screaming in protest as the creature’s teeth sink into his shoulder, his chest, his neck, puncturing the chestplate he's wearing. 

Stars burst across his vision, and blood fills his mouth, bitter and hot. The creature sinks its teeth in deeper, and Donghyuck feels something in his chest crunch_. _His consciousness wavers, and he takes a shallow, wet breath. 

Then there’s a _ bang, _and the weight is gone. The creature stumbles off of him, dissolving into black goo. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mark, holding Donghyuck’s gun, expression stunned. 

Darkness overtakes Donghyuck for a moment—or a day, or an hour, he’s not sure. The pain makes it hard to breathe, but there’s a hand on his cheek and breath along his cheekbones that brings him back to himself. He cracks his eyes open. Everything is tinged red, and his whole body is tingly and warm, like every inch of him is trying its best to die. _ Shut it down! _His cells scream, heart thudding weakly against his ribs.

“Oh, thank god,” Mark’s voice comes, echoing and distant. “Hyuck. Hey, stay with me.” 

“Hurts,” Donghyuck manages weakly. “A lot.” 

There's another voice—Chenle, Donghyuck thinks hazily. He’s saying something about the police. More voices, which are more background noise than anything. 

Donghyuck slips into unconsciousness, only to be pulled awake once again by Mark’s hand on his face. “—get him to a hospital, no police,” Mark is saying. Donghyuck squints through the haze of pain, and relief washes over him as he notes no significant injury on him. Mark turns back to him, sees he’s awake, and scowls. 

“That was a jackass move, _ jackass,_” Mark snaps, clearly upset. “_I’m _ the guy with the super-healing. _ I _can come back from the dead. You can’t.” 

“Didn’t want—didn’t want you to get hurt,” Donghyuck coughs. “Ow, fuck, my ribs.” 

Mark only frowns at him some more, face swimming hazily. Donghyuck loves that face, and god, he's glad it’s not slashed up. He’s glad it was him and not Mark. He'd take a million broken ribs every day for the rest of his life if he didn’t have to watch Mark die yet again—as funny as it is. But Mark is his best friend, and Donghyuck loves him more than pretty much everything. So he reaches an impasse—how can he laugh at how silly, dull, and mundane death is if it’s Mark, who _ isn’t _silly, dull and mundane? 

Well, at least he’s almost dead himself. Which means he doesn’t have to figure it out. 

Donghyuck opens his eyes one last time, and everything around him filled with light and humming noise. Mark’s face has been replaced with a long expanse of white sky, and it feels like he’s gliding through water, pushed on an invisible vessel towards the shore. 

Donghyuck exhales peacefully. “I love you, Mark Lee,” he says to no one in particular. He just doesn’t want his last words to be _ ow, fuck, my ribs. _Much better than they’re a confession to the one boy he’s loved the most. 

The boat stops, and there’s cool hands on Donghyuck’s skin. A small prick in the crease of his elbow has everything dimming, quieting, and then he slips into oblivion, darkness taking him at last. 

* * *

And then he wakes up. 

_ Ow, fuck, my ribs, _he thinks as soon as he’s aware of his body again, very much intact and very much alive. Everything feels very heavy and fuzzy, and his tongue and throat don’t quite work properly, meaning he can only struggle silently and wait for a familiar face. 

First come the doctors. _ Do you know where you are? _They ask. He can’t answer, so they just tell him—the hospital. Recovery ward. He’d lost a lot of blood, they’d given him stitches, everything will heal just fine. He still has all of his body parts. He’s on a lot of pain medication, but there are a lot of people waiting to see him, so they’ll let them in one-by-one. 

His aunt is first, his uncle absent because he’s on some long trucking route and won’t be back until the end of the week. Her mouth is a tight line, and she doesn’t touch him. Donghyuck guesses this will cost a lot of money, and realizes he doesn’t feel that bad about it. Mark is fine. Mark is safe. 

His friends come after, with a balloon that says _ HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY! _ on it, which makes him laugh, and then cry because the drugs have got him _ so _ fucked up right now and his brain can’t really distinguish between emotions. All it can do right now is _ feel, _and even that is almost too much for it. Jaemin almost starts crying too, and he gives Donghyuck a very careful hug. 

“You smell nice,” Donghyuck says, his mouth disconnected from his brain. He's not even sure it’s _ him _that’s speaking. Maybe it's an alien. “So nice. Like weed and ginger and clean rich person house.”

“I’m letting that slide because you almost fucking died,” Jaemin says tearfully. 

Jisung and Chenle are there, too. With a small start, Donghyuck realizes he doesn't know either of them very well, but both are still here to see if he's okay. That makes him cry again, except that hurts his chest much he almost passes out. And _ that _makes a nurse bustle in and shoo them away, because they're making him emotional, which could tear his stitches. 

Renjun gives him a gentle pat on the head and promises they’ll be back when he’s more awake, and then all of them head towards the door. 

“Mark,” Donghyuck says before he can help it. It bursts out of him tearfully, almost pathetically, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Mark turns, surprised, and Donghyuck sniffs, fighting back another wave of tears. “I don’t want you to leave me.” 

“Oh,” Mark says, quietly. He turns to the nurse. “Can I…?” 

The nurse looks between the two of them, mildly exasperated, and sighs. “As long as you don’t make him cry,” he says. “Then sure.” 

“What are we gonna do with them,” Jeno sighs as Mark crosses the room, coming to sit in the chair near Donghyuck’s bed and the beeping heart monitor. 

Renjun and Jaemin are most definitely laughing at them. Actually, maybe Jisung is too. Donghyuck takes it back. He doesn’t want to get to know him. In fact, he’s going to kill all of them as soon as he gets off these stupid drugs—

“Hyuck,” Mark says, his tone soft with something Donghyuck has never heard before. Donghyuck’s hands uncurl on the tops of the sheets and the beeping slows. His whole body turns to mush, and Mark smiles at him. 

“Aw,” Chenle says. 

“Disgusting, let’s go,” Renjun says, and Jeno nods rapidly in agreement. The door opens and slides shut, and they’re alone. 

Mark’s cheeks are pink, and Donghyuck feels very, very tired. 

“Thought I was gonna die,” Donghyuck mumbles, eyes fluttering. “Thought I was on a boat. There was a white sky—“

“Uh, that was probably just them wheeling you to the operating room,” Mark interrupts. “Can we not talk about you dying, actually? I still can’t believe you did that.” 

“Mm, yeah,” Donghyuck hums, and a staticky memory struggles to the forefront of his brain. “Just like how Mya said, once.” 

“Mya?” 

Donghyuck tries to recall her words. ”The, uh…the right person? No, um. Love makes you the right person?” 

“Maybe you should go back to sleep,” Mark suggests, bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, no, it was one of the last things she said to me, when we were in the hotel room, before the people at the door.” It’s coming back to him in flashes that make his head ache—Mya, holding him tightly. Mya, looking resigned and tired as a loud knock sounded on the door—

“The—the who? The hotel? What?” Mark sounds even _ more _ confused now. Donghyuck pauses, waiting for the head pain to pass. But the interruption has thrown him off, and now he can’t remember what he was talking about. 

“The airport,” Donghyuck repeats, though he’s not exactly sure if that’s where he was in the story. “When she dropped me off with my aunt and uncle.” 

“What did she say?” Mark asks. 

“That one day I’ll meet someone who’ll make me want to do stupid things,” he says, relieved he’s finally gotten the whole thing out. He’s surprised he even remembered it all. 

_ Just like I did for your parents, _ Mya had said, too, but Donghyuck doesn’t add that because _ he’s _ not even sure what it means, six years later. And he certainly doesn’t have the brain power to try and figure it out now, so instead, he lets the pain medication ease him back towards sleep. It feels like his aunt's hand on his forehead, like she used to do when he was younger, chased by memories.

“Hold my hand?” Donghyuck asks, already half-asleep. He could be dreaming at this point, but he’s not sure. 

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then there’s Mark’s hand around his, gentle, like he might break. 

“Don’t tell Renjun,” Mark says. “He’ll give us a lot of shit.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck mumbles. “Thanks for shooting that thing for me.” 

“No problem,” Mark answers, an amused note in his voice. “Now go to sleep, Hyuck. I need you back on your feet.” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says again, and his body is more than happy to obey, and he slips into a deep, dreamless sleep, anchored by the warmth of Mark’s hand in his. 

* * *

The next time he wakes up, it’s because of the pain. It’s everywhere, consuming him, making it hard to breathe. 

He groans, opening his eyes. He’s still in the same room, only, Mark’s sitting in the corner on his phone, looking half-asleep. 

“Hey,” Donghyuck croaks, sitting up in his bed. Sparks dance along his vision, and he has to catch his breath before he can speak again. “How long—?” 

“Not long,” Mark says. “It’s only been a few hours since you woke up first. But before that—a day? Two days?” 

Donghyuck relaxes. “Okay. Okay. That’s okay.” 

“It’s not.” Mark’s tone is clipped, the same way it was when he snapped at Donghyuck on the island. “I still don’t get why you did that.” 

“I wasn’t thinking,” Donghyuck says, the pain sharpening his irritation. Why can’t Mark just be _ grateful_? Logistically speaking, it was a pretty stupid thing to do, but Donghyuck lived, didn’t he? And Mark didn’t get hurt. “I just didn’t think—“ 

“Think what?” Mark asks, jaw tight. “That I’d be able to handle the pain? That I wouldn’t be able to kill the creature? That the plan wouldn’t work because you don’t trust me?” 

“Where the _ hell _are you getting all of these ideas from?” Donghyuck demands. “No! None of that is true!” 

“Then why’d you do it?” Mark says, half-rising from his chair. There’s real hurt on his face now, mingling with something more bitter—desperation? 

_ BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, _Donghyuck almost shouts, but he bites his tongue at the last second, curling into himself and turning away from Mark. He’s a coward, a liar, an asshole, all of the above. But he can’t say it. He can’t do that to himself—because if he says it, then that’s the end of him and Mark. And the thought of that is even more unbearable than the pain in his chest. 

“Thought so,” Mark mutters, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m gonna—the others want to see you.” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says meekly, still refusing to meet Mark’s eyes. “Sounds good.” 

Renjun and Jisung come in first. Renjun takes one look at him and immediately knows everything, which Donghyuck both loves and hates him for. 

“You couldn’t say it, could you,” Renjun says, crossing his arms. Jisung, who’s taken the chair, gives Donghyuck a confused look. 

“Couldn’t say what?” he asks. 

Renjun explains patiently, “Donghyuck’s in love with Mark, but can’t say it because he’s got a lot of past trauma regarding being left alone or having to watch people walk away from him.” 

“Oh,” Jisung says, nodding like this somehow makes sense. “Got it.” 

“I don’t even know why he’s mad at me,” Donghyuck complains. “I jumped in front of the creature, saved him from the pain, _ and _he got to kill the thing.” 

There’s a knock on the door, and Jeno steps through, followed closely by Chenle. “Jaemin’s getting snacks with Mark,” Jeno says, “because he’s pissed off.” He gives Donghyuck a tired look. “What’d you guys fight about now?” 

“He’s mad at me because I jumped in front of the creature,” Donghyuck says. “Which doesn’t make any sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense,” Chenle chimes in. “You made him feel like he’s insignificant, _ and _ you almost died. So he’s both hurt _ and _worried about you.” 

“On top of it,” Renjun says, “you’re being really vague and not helpful. He wants an explanation because he feels insecure, not because he wants the truth.” 

“What is this, group therapy?” Donghyuck mutters, feeling very _ vulnerable _ and _ known, _and not liking it in the slightest. “How do you know he’s feeling insecure? Why didn’t he tell me this?” 

“Because you didn’t ask,” Jeno says simply. 

“If you wanna date him, you probably should be better at talking to him,” Jisung says. 

Donghyuck starts to throw his hands up, and then realizes he can't, because he’s in so much pain he can barely breathe. “I bet if Mark were lying here, you guys would be _ way _nicer,” he grumbles. 

“Mark wouldn’t be in the hospital right now,” Renjun explains to him, “because he's got _ super _healing.” 

“This was straight-up the dumbest thing you've ever done,” Jeno says. 

Donghyuck, at least, agrees with that. Everything hurts _ a lot. _From now on, he's most definitely avoiding zombie-demons on steroids intent on killing him. 

The door slides open again, and the same nurse peeks his head into the room. “You’ve got more visitors, Donghyuck,” he says, and steps aside. In the doorway stands Ten and Kun, the former looking extremely guilty. 

_ He should, _ Donghyuck thinks a little viciously. _ His text is the reason I’m here. _

“We’ll go find Jaemin and Mark,” Jeno says, and they file out of the room to make way for Ten and Kun. 

“You’re popular,” Ten says, sitting down in the chair. “We had to wait almost an hour to see you.” 

Donghyuck purses his lips. “Why are you here?” 

“Straight to the chase, then,” Ten mutters. “Fine.” 

Kun gives him a warning look. “We’re here to apologize,” he says, nudging Ten. 

“A friend of mine was on that island,” Ten says, looking down. “And I knew Twofold would be overwhelmed. That’s why I texted you.” 

“That’s not an apology,” Donghyuck says stubbornly. “I almost died, Mark is pissed at me, and my ribs _ really _fucking hurt.” 

“I’m sorry you almost died,” Ten says primly. “I didn’t mean for _ that _to happen.” 

“Ten, oh my god,” Kun sighs, putting his head in his hands. “Just say sorry to him, please.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ten repeats blandly, but everything on his face says that he isn’t, really. He doesn’t regret sending them in there one bit, and Donghyuck can’t even be _ that _ mad at him for it, because they _ had _helped. That whole squadron of police would’ve died on the island without them. 

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck says, because he’s too tired to hold a grudge. “I forgive you.” 

Ten nods, and an uncomfortable silence falls over the room. Donghyuck feels like he's revealed something he didn’t intend to.

“Why is Mark pissed at you?” Kun asks, and Donghyuck is glad for the change of subject. 

Donghyuck explains everything that happened on the island, and then just a few minutes ago. By the end of it, Ten and Kun are wearing identical amused smiles, which makes Donghyuck feel very, very young. 

“Sounds like you just need to apologize to him,” Kun says. “Tell him that you didn’t mean it as a way to make him feel bad, but you’re sorry that you did.” 

“Also apologize for getting hurt and worrying him,” Ten says. “People like it when you do that.” He gives Kun a look. “I learned that the hard way.” 

Kun laughs, and takes Ten’s hand in his. “You did.” 

Donghyuck shifts uncomfortably. “That’s gonna be so awkward, though.” 

Ten shrugs. “Yeah, but you gotta do it.” 

Donghyuck sighs heavily, ribs aching. “I guess I do.” 

* * *

Mark comes back in a few minutes later, after Kun and Ten have left. He’s got a sheepish, mildly embarrassed look on his face, and Donghyuck thinks that maybe he had an uncomfortable advice session, too.

“So, um,” Donghyuck starts, wincing at the unsteadiness of his voice. He grits his teeth, and bites the bullet. “I’m sorry. I jumped in front of that thing because—because _ I _ couldn’t stand the thought of it attacking you. I didn’t do it because I thought the plan wouldn’t work, or whatever.” He curls his hands into fists, fighting hard against the embarrassment that rises hot and fast in his throat. Every part of him wants to curl up, cringe, and die. Mark’s mouth is parted, just a little, like he can’t believe Donghyuck is actually _ doing _this. 

But everyone was right. His friends, Kun, and Ten—if he wants to be better, he’s got to do this. 

“I’m also sorry for making you worry,” he finishes, so quietly he wonders if Mark can even hear him. 

A long moment of silence stretches between them, heavy and alive. Donghyuck looks up and meets Mark’s eyes, and electricity jolts down his spine at the fondness in his eyes. Mark smiles, cheeks dimpling, and Donghyuck feels every single part of him dissolve again, like it always does when that smile is turned on him. 

“Thanks,” Mark says, the one single word somehow encompassing everything. “I’m sorry too. I was being a bit of a jackass.”

“We both were,” Donghyuck modifies, grinning when Mark laughs, nearly sliding out of the chair. Their eyes meet again, and suddenly, Donghyuck is aware of how close Mark has gotten—close enough to touch, if he wanted, if he was brave enough to. But there’s no morphine, no excuse, and Donghyuck is still a coward in love with his best friend. 

Mark’s eyes are wide. He opens his mouth to say something, breath catching in his throat—but then the door opens, and Taeil walks in. 

They both turn at the same time, and the tension in the air vanishes immediately, replaced by stunned stillness. 

“I’m hallucinating,” Donghyuck says, certain. “There’s no way Twofold is standing in my hospital room.” 

“Guess it’s a shared hallucination, then,” Mark says blankly. “Because I see him too.” 

“It’s not a hallucination,” Taeil says, walking farther into the room. Donghyuck’s had close scrapes with him before, but they’d always been much funnier scenarios—Mark, furiously skateboarding away from him, Donghyuck, throwing a shoe to distract him so they could escape. Silver Slipper. The dude with the water jetpack. Not—not both of them, unmasked, sitting in a bland hospital room after a violent brawl with some zombie-demons. “I wanted to talk with you guys about something.” 

“Uh oh,” Donghyuck whispers. 

“I know the truth,” Taeil says, but the expression on his face is kind, no trace of anger. “I saw you, right before Chenle teleported.” 

“You’re the one who convinced the hospital it was a dog that attacked Hyuck,” Mark says, realization dawning on his face. “I knew they didn’t just buy that out of the blue.” 

“Granted, it was a pretty awful excuse,” Taeil says, mouth turning up. “But that’s not why I’m here, and you two know that.” 

Mark’s smile fades, and he sits heavily in the chair next to Donghyuck’s bed. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah, what?” Donghyuck asks, looking between the two of them. “What is he talking about? Mark?” 

“He wants us to stop,” Mark says, quiet. Donghyuck’s stomach plummets, and the stitches all across his neck and chest burst into fiery pain again. 

Taeil nods. “You’ve done enough. It’s time to stop—_really _stop, before someone dies.” He gives Mark and Donghyuck a long, measured look at this last part. 

“We can’t,” Donghyuck says, panicked. “We’re helping people now! I’m done with the arson and all of that, I promise, so why can’t we—“ 

“You’re not a superhero,” Taeil cuts in gently. His voice is still kind. “And I can’t keep covering for you, letting you walk into situations you're not prepared for.” 

“But—“ Donghyuck protests, feeling like he might cry, but Mark puts a hand on the nape of his neck, steadying. Donghyuck chokes on his words, a lump rising in his throat. 

“Hyuck,” Mark says. Donghyuck hears a strangled noise come from him, and leans into the touch. He feels like a child, scolded by a parent—like a dumbass, for thinking that he could mess around in the city and not get caught_. _ He hates Taeil, too, because he has a _ valid point. _

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid, _ Donghyuck thinks angrily. Mark's hand tightens on his neck, and he takes a shuddery breath. 

“I know it’s hard,” Taeil says, “but I don’t want to watch you get hurt anymore. And neither do your friends." 

“Okay,” Donghyuck hears himself say, even as his vision blurs with tears. “Fine.” 

Taeil doesn’t say anything more, but gives them both one more glance. And then he’s gone, leaving Mark and Donghyuck alone once more. 

“Let’s listen to him,” Mark says before Donghyuck can even _ begin _ to disagree. Again, Donghyuck feels unfairly _ known. _“Please? We—I can’t—I can’t lose you, you know?” 

Oh, and _ that _ is unfair. When has Donghyuck _ ever _ been able to say no to Mark, especially when he pulls the best-friend-I-love-you shit. His chest throbs painfully, a physical reminder of what had _ almost _happened. 

“Alright,” Donghyuck says, exhaling and closing his eyes. “I’ll try.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, at least hyuck got to use his swords one last time before he stopped being a vigilante forever. 
> 
> unless...? 
> 
> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	11. prelude: hyuck and mya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys voted, so here you go!

Donghyuck doesn’t like to think about Mya. There had been a lot of things that she’d done wrong—a  _lot _ of things that he needed a  _lot _ of therapy for, if he’s being honest, but—

But— 

She’d also done a few things right. 

Never once had she told him she loved him, true. But she’d never been cruel, never raised a hand against him. Sure, she was evasive and mysterious and never told him how he’d gotten so strong or fast. But she’d never lied to his face, not directly. And yeah, she’d never told him why he was learning nine different forms of martials arts and how to shoot a gun at age eight. But she’d also never forgotten his birthday, not even once. 

Sure, she’d abandoned him at his aunt and uncle’s and vanished without a trace, but at least she’d said goodbye. 

* * *

When Donghyuck turned ten years old, Mya finally sent him to school. Even she—albeit begrudgingly—saw the use in having him learn history and math and other useful things, should her plan completely and utterly fail. Donghyuck needed life skills, and as much of a normal childhood as possible if she wanted him to be able to stay hidden until the time was right.

His parents would’ve wanted that, too. Mya wanted to make sure their son turned out as good and as strong and as bright as they were. As they had hoped for him to be.

Donghyuck, of course, didn’t know a damn thing about his parents. Mya never told him anything—not even their names. He assumed their last names were Lee, since Mya’s was Rikiishi and his wasn’t. His last name—the same one a billion other kids in his second-grade class had—was the only thing he had of them.

Sometimes, when he asked about his parents (only on special occasions, like on the rare movie night, when Mya had a few beers and watched _Finding Nemo _with her eyes half-open, or on his birthday, when she looked at him with fondness he rarely saw on her face, which was often expressionless and cool) her brow wrinkled and her mouth turned down just slightly, like the memory of them was bitter.

“They’re gone, Hyuck,” she always said, every time. “Dwelling on the past won’t get you anywhere, either,” she added when he opened his mouth to protest. “Keep your chin up and keep moving forward.” 

That was exactly what he did when she gave him one last bone-crushing hug—he could count the number of times she’d hugged him on one hand—and told him to be good and practice his footwork. And then she vanished into the crowd, and Donghyuck stood next to his aunt and uncle for a long second, hoping beyond belief that she’d reappear. 

She never did. And he went home with his aunt and uncle and practiced his footwork and wondered why his dreams were so shattered and turbulent, and why his heart hurt so much. 

But he kept his chin up and kept moving forward, and eventually, the past stayed in the past. 

* * *

He doesn’t like to think about Mya. She’d forced him to run extra miles when his grades were bad and she’d trained him to be violent. She was not a mother. He should've been given to someone else.

But she’d loved him anyway, and it may have had ruined him in some ways (he’s killed people, after all) but it’s all he has. Her, standing by her beat-up Prius with her short dark hair and her expressionless face behind her aviator glasses, waiting for him after school sometimes. The pies she made on his birthday, the half-smile on her face when he'd finally land a new kick or nail a new set of moves. The katana she gave him on his thirteenth birthday that he has stashed in his aunt and uncle’s house because the sight of it makes him sick to his stomach. 

There are gaps in his memory about the day that she left, blurred by what Donghyuck assumes is time, but mostly by the tears he’d shed, so many that his fingertips had gone numb. 

Mark had only asked about her once, and that was way back in high school, before he’d died for the first time. Donghyuck had punched him, then, though not as hard. And then he’d bought Mark a cherry Coke and they’d sat on the curb and Mark had said, “That's fucked up. You must’ve hated her.” 

“No,” Donghyuck had replied, looking down at his scarred knuckles and calloused palms. “I loved her a lot.” 

* * *


	12. ouch, my ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't listen to his friends, okay? Donghyuck's _fine_. He promises. He definitely doesn't miss jumping off of rooftops and punching bad guys and being _good—_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been two months but i rediscovered the beauty of writing while jammin this chapter out. 
> 
> speaking of! it was supposed to be 1 part but i've split it up because otherwise a) it woulda been real overwhelming, b) it gives me more breathing room to post separately, and c) i like being suspenseful. 
> 
> content warning for some drinking and mildly self-destructive behavior. hyuck goes through it. 
> 
> as always lots of love to every1 on twitter (lil noah riah nana macka in particular) for being so patient and encouraging! 
> 
> the entire moon and sun to roosa but that's old news i love you tons!! 
> 
> (also ps many moons ago there was an anon who talked about trash cans in love. theyre in here just for you)

The thing is, Donghyuck tries. He really, really, _ really _does. Even his friends try to help, bringing him notes and offering alternative suggestions to solving petty crimes or kicking knees in. 

(Knee-kicking is a personal favorite, especially when it’s those sleazy guys that think catcalling women is even remotely okay.) 

He stays with his aunt and uncle while his stitches heal. Their apartment is small and right next to the train tracks, and the noise quickly becomes familiar. Each morning, his aunt wakes him up, his uncle hands him a cup of coffee, and they sit at the breakfast table listening to the train and watching the news. 

His aunt asks, “How did you sleep?” 

“Fine,” Donghyuck says, poking his scrambled eggs moodily. “How much longer do I have to stay here?” 

“Until the doctor says,” his aunt says, pursing her lips in the way she does when she’s irritated. She does it when she has to remind him to take his antibiotics or when he comes back at midnight from Jaemin’s house. He knows he’s being restless and annoying, but there’s very little he can do to help it. No vigilante stuff means he’s suddenly got a massive reserve of energy, and it makes his skin prickle and his hands sweat. It’s hard to pay attention in class, and Mark has to put a hand on his knee in nutrition class because he’s shaking it so intensely the desk is wobbling. 

He misses having his own space. He misses stopping muggings and break-ins and drug deals. His aunt and uncle’s place feels cramped, sterile, and impersonal. Their mild greetings choke him, and their total ambivalence towards all parts of his life makes him want to scream. Which is weird, because it never bothered him before. Probably because his friends do things like ask about how he is and listen to when he complains and remember the things he says. His aunt, on the other hand, has to ask who Mark is nearly every single time. His uncle was surprised when Donghyuck told him about the classes he’s taking, despite having told him just the day before. 

“I’m going,” Donghyuck says, unable to stand the suffocating blandness of the room for a second longer. “See you later.” 

“Be home by dinner,” his uncle says idly as Donghyuck pulls on his coat and stuffs his feet into his sneakers. 

“No,” Donghyuck retorts. “I’m going to Mark’s house.” 

His aunt and his uncle look up at him, confused, but Donghyuck doesn’t back down. “I can take care of myself,” he insists. “I want to go back to living on campus.” 

“No,” his uncle says, firm. “You’ll stay here until the doctor says. It’ll be expensive if you have to go back to the hospital.” 

His aunt’s mouth purses again, and Donghyuck scowls at them for a second longer before he relents with a sigh. “Fine.” 

“You don’t have the money to take care of yourself,” his uncle reminds him. “Just stay here for a little while longer. Take your medicine. And then we’ll be out of your hair.” 

Donghyuck feels a little bad for being an asshole, especially when his uncle offers him a tired smile. “Alright?” 

“Yeah, fine,” he mutters, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I’m still going to Mark’s house.” 

“Which one is he again?” His aunt asks. 

Donghyuck shakes his head. “The skateboarder.” 

“Oh,” his aunt says, even though she still sounds confused. Donghyuck gives up on the conversation and turns towards the door. 

“Bye,” he says, and doesn’t wait for a response. The outside air nips at his nose and cheeks, and he zips his coat up to his chin, sticking his hands in his pockets as he heads takes the stairs up towards the train station (one at a time, because running makes his chest feel like it’s about to explode). 

His phone buzzes. It’s from Jaemin. _ Hey, why are you sending weird Amazon packages to my house? _

Donghyuck remembers two nights ago, getting stoned on Jaemin’s couch and hitting the checkout button on his Amazon cart. There’d been a copy of _ Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney _ and a DIY acupuncture kit and a pack of golf balls, because those are fun to throw through windows. 

_ I’m bored, _ Donghyuck types back. _ What would you do if the city’s personal superhero told you to fuck off? _

_ Dude idk, _ Jaemin answers, _ but not DIY acupuncture. Listen just come smoke some more and don’t do anything stupid ok? _

_ i’m literally going batshit INSANE, _ Donghyuck sends, just as the southbound train pulls up to the platform, its doors sliding open with a _ ding. _

Donghyuck steps onto the train, pushing through the crowd of rush-hour people so he can get a good grip on the bar as the train heads towards the next stop. 

He skims through the article he was supposed to have read for his philosophy class—something about medical ethics and Heather Dupain, a scientist and the big scandal of the early 2000s. They’d talked about telematics in the 80s, and privacy dilemmas for about two seconds, and now they were already moving onto morals and medicine, or some shit like that. _ God, _ would it kill professors to slow down, just a little? His Stats class, too, is hurtling through subject matter at the speed of light. It doesn’t help in the slightest that he’s skipped a significant amount of the lectures, and in the classes he _ has _attended, he hasn’t paid attention. 

Being normal sucks, Donghyuck decides, stepping off the train five stops later and making his way through the quad towards his 300-person nutrition lecture. It’s a pretty boring class—the professor makes no attempt to make it interesting—but Mark’s in it, so it’s usually pretty alright. 

Except _ Jaden _sits with them now, and Donghyuck fucking hates that dude with every single inch of his body. He hates his perfect skin and his neat hair and his hipster glasses. He talks about current politics and drinks good coffee and makes Mark laugh a lot. He probably doesn’t have an empty void in the center of his chest that only violence and a one-sided love can fill. He probably has healthy relationships with his parents, probably hasn’t been abandoned, probably hasn’t woken every morning for the last two weeks and told himself that he’s worthless and stupid for thinking that he could make a difference in this city that’s barely holding itself together—

“Are you alright?” Mark asks as Donghyuck stomps up the stairs to the lecture hall. 

Donghyuck also hates how Mark can read him so well.

“Fine,” Donghyuck mutters, brushing past Jaden without acknowledging him. If the whole nonsense with his aunt and uncle hadn't happened this morning, then maybe he would've had a little more patience and could’ve at least spared a _ hello. _

Instead, the morning seems intent on hating him, so he's going to hate it right back. 

He hears Mark reassure Jaden behind him—_He's probably just had a bad morning, sorry about him, he can be a little prickly _—as he throws his stuff down at their usual spot. Mark sits in the middle, and Donghyuck watches with growing derision as Jaden pulls out a clean, intact notebook and a pencil case, because of course people like him don't just toss all their shit in their bag and hope for the best. Donghyuck, meanwhile, can't remember the last time he had one subject in one notebook. The one he's using for this class was used for his Com 200 class last year, and the cover has nearly fallen off. It's also water-stained from that one time he got pushed into a fountain battling a horde of drunken frat boys trying to burn down the administrative building. Long story. That was right after That One Tuesday, too, so he'd been pretty off his game. 

Class ticks by. Donghyuck half-takes notes, half-does his homework for his philosophy class, aimlessly filling in a comprehension worksheet about the reading they were supposed to have done. Heather Dupain was a real nutjob, Donghyuck thinks. Mad scientists like her don't exist anymore, because it's not the 90s and people have stopped believing in diet pills. Mostly. 

“Hey, Hyuck,” Mark says, leaning across the desk, “wanna study with Jaden and I on Wednesday for the test on Friday? Jaden lives super close to campus and he said he'd be down.” 

Jaden offers Donghyuck a tentative smile. “I heard you did really well on the last one,” he says, and Donghyuck hates how honest and open he sounds. He hates a lot of things about Jaden, especially the fact that he's probably a nice guy and Donghyuck can't just deck him right here, right now. 

“Sounds great,” Donghyuck says, and Jaden must _ really _ be giving him the benefit of the doubt, because there's no way he _ didn't _catch the scathing sarcasm in Donghyuck's voice. 

The rest of the lecture goes fine—he scribbles down notes and doodles in the margins of Mark’s notebook, scrolling through Twitter and reading about yet another _ mysterious _attack that just happened to be at the same time as another strange virus outbreak on the west side of the city. 

It's getting worse. And it sucks that he just has to sit here and wait for his stupid ribs to heal before he can go and beg Taeil to let him help. The city has raised him, practically—its rooftops and alleys and skyline at night, the colorful streets in the art district and the bustle of downtown, the noisy sprawl of campus, the big fancy neighborhood where Jaemin lives. All of it—precious to him and to his friends. He doesn't want to see it crumble. He's also terrified that the virus will get to one of his friends, something that he's determined to stop before it even has the chance to happen. If one of those zombie-demons comes within a mile-radius of anyone (yes, including Chenle and Jisung, even though both of them are new and also high schoolers) Donghyuck is going to entirely disregard everything _ any _ professional of _ any _sort has told him, and smash its head in. 

The class ends and finally, Jaden leaves. But he leans over to give Mark a side-hug, his hand lingering on Mark's shoulder, smile overly-friendly. Donghyuck glares at his retreating form and wishes he had Chenle’s shadow-jumping power, if only so he could teleport, trip Jaden, and then teleport back before Mark noticed and got mad. Instead, he just fumes and tries desperately to control his jealousy. He has no say in who Mark dates, even though Mark absolutely should've read his by mind now and asked him out. That would save Donghyuck from having to confess and then promptly jump off a skyscraper. 

“How are your ribs?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck takes a deep breath, trying to quell his desperation and envy so he can play it subtle. 

“They still hurt, but I have full range of motion again,” Donghyuck says, proud of how steady his voice is. “I’m going crazy without exercise.” 

“By exercise, you mean hitting zombie-demons in the face, don't you?” Mark asks wryly, crossing his arms. 

“I said exercise.” 

“Which, for you, is hitting shit,” Mark laughs, and Donghyuck can't help but smile as well. But then his expression sobers, and he puts a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck eyes him, because if Mark is resorting to physical affection, it’s because he’s gonna say something Donghyuck won’t like. For example—

“I’m genuinely worried about you.” 

Donghyuck snorts and knocks Mark’s hand off his shoulder. “Don’t be. I’m fine.” 

“Jaemin told me—” 

“Fucking _ snitch_,” Donghyuck mutters, and Mark gives him a tired look. 

“Hyuck, listen, I get where you’re coming from. I’m pissed off, too—I can’t imagine what that’s like _ with _the busted ribs. And I’m sorry, dude. I really am. But you’re gonna get in way over your head—” 

“How do _ you _know?” Donghyuck asks, crossing his arms. He didn’t mean for it to come out so heated, but doesn’t regret it; Mark’s eyebrows shoot up so high Donghyuck almost laughs. 

“Because…I know you,” Mark says slowly, like he’s not sure if it’s a trick question. “_Ace Attorney _and acupuncture are fine right now, but I’m worried about you doing shit that’ll get you hurt.” 

“Like?” 

Mark sighs heavily. “Are you _ really _gonna make me say it?” 

“What, one-night stands? Mild law-breaking? Smashing billboards? Running too much?” Donghyuck lists off, only mildly annoyed at how _ tempting _all of those options sound. Anything to release the itchy, uneasy feeling in his knees. To ease the tightness in his chest, the heaviness in his brain, and all the terrifying realizations about himself that he does not want to face. 

“How about all of the above?” Mark asks. “Just…watch out for yourself. For me, alright?” 

Donghyuck narrows his eyes, but Mark still sees right past him, to the part that’s already caving in agreement. 

“Fine,” he says. “Whatever.” He stomps down the stairs, Mark right behind him. 

“Thank you,” Mark says cheerfully, and Donghyuck wants to punch him. “Are we going to get lunch and do homework?” 

“Yes,” Donghyuck answers, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to let Mark catch up, now that he’s done throwing a fit. “Boba?” 

“Boba,” Mark agrees, and they head off campus towards one of the many bubble tea places, tucked between a bank and a sandwich shop. They grab sandwiches first, and after they order their boba (coffee milk tea for Donghyuck, peach green tea for Mark because he can never finish a milk tea after eating lunch) they make a beeline for the table by the window, the big round one that can fit both of their laptops. 

Donghyuck opens up the online quiz for his philosophy class—god, this professor gives a shit-ton of homework, he’s _ sick _of it—and is immediately stumped by the first question, which necessitates him asking Mark for help scouring the Internet for answers. 

“What was the question again?” Mark asks. “Recording ethics?” 

“No, that was the last one,” Donghyuck says. “This one asks about, um…_what part of Heather Dupain’s research finally triggered the public’s moral outrage? _” 

“Why are you suddenly learning so much about this lady?” Mark asks. “It happened when we were babies, right?” But he still types something into his computer, scrolling through results. 

“Well, my professor says it’s because it’s when technology started booming, but nobody knew about the consequences,” Donghyuck says, opening Heather Dupain’s Wikipedia page. “Like phishing, for example. People used to get scammed over the phone all the time, and now it barely happens, because our generation never answers calls.” 

“Wow, _ that’s _what you’re learning about?” Mark asks, looking up from his screen. “Kinda mind-bending.” 

“A little,” Donghyuck agrees. “Okay, whaddya got for me?” 

“Okay, so, it says that her peers and the research community had issues with her stuff about thermodynamics and her ideas about harnessing dark energy—” 

“And they cut off her funding because they were worried, and also they were looking for an excuse because apparently being a smart, radically-thinking woman is risky, we had a whole discussion,” Donghyuck says. “Wikipedia is saying it’s when she did the first live test, but I don’t know if that’s accurate or not.” 

“This article says her first test was on some pigs, which failed and made all the animal rights activists upset, and they started a bunch of rumors and the rest of the world pretty much followed,” Mark reads. 

“Pigs, great,” Donghyuck says, typing that into the quiz. “When?” 

“Nineteen…” Mark pauses, leaning closer to the screen, “ninety-nine, I think.” 

“Makes sense, if the fire was a year later,” Donghyuck says. “She got so much hate mail and all her people left. The theory is that she set it herself and jumped in after her work.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Mark shivers. “That’s terrible.” 

“This whole section has actually been really cool,” Donghyuck says. “Minus all the homework, but I’ve liked learning about research ethics and biologists who have gone off the rails. It’s like comic book material.” He scrolls to the next question, Mark does another search about a newspaper printing scam, and Donghyuck hits submit. 

They work for a while longer, chasing tapioca pearls around the bottoms of their cups, and for a second, Donghyuck forgets about being in pain and angry at Jaden. 

But just for a second. Because eventually, Mark’s phone dings, and surprise surprise—_it’s Jaden. _

“It’s Jaden,” Mark says, and Donghyuck resists the urge to sneer and go _ oh, really, who woulda guessed. _“He’s wondering if he can join us? He saw my location on Snapchat.” 

_ NO, _ Donghyuck wants to shout. Jaden is _ not _ allowed to come into _ their _ boba place and disturb _ their _ Tuesday afternoon routine, the one that they’ve had in place since _ high school. _

“Sure,” Donghyuck says, because he loves Mark and wants him to be happy, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of any misplaced jealous rage. “I’m leaving soon, anyway.” 

“Really?” Mark asks, and he looks genuinely bummed-out. Donghyuck refuses to cave, and nods. 

“Yup,” he says. “Jisung, um—Jisung wanted to talk to me.” 

“About what?” Mark asks. 

Donghyuck shrugs, closing his computer and shoving everything into his backpack as fast as he can, because he’s just spotted Jaden through the window and cannot stomach the thought of having to play nice with him for more than half a second. “Dunno. Look, there’s Jaden, and I’m out of here-love-you-bye,” he blurts, and practically runs out of the boba shop. 

“Wait, was that Donghyuck?” he hears Jaden ask, and then the door swings shut. 

_ Fuck you, _Donghyuck thinks. He even said Donghyuck’s name correctly and everything. Just another reason to be infuriated by him. 

_ Jisung, _ Donghyuck texts on his way to the train, _ you’re at jaemins right?? _ The two of them had been spending an _ awful _ lot of time together, Chenle included. Actually, _ everyone _included except Donghyuck, though that may be his own fault. It’s hard to sulk and be moody when he’s around his friends, who feed the extrovert inside of him. But he doesn’t like their secret-keeping—even though he’s just being paranoid. And he doesn’t like their lying, either—even though the things they were lying about were inconsequential, like whether Jaemin is stoned or Jisung’s doing something illegal for his courier job. 

Jisung’s reply comes a few minutes later. _ yeah why? also mark texted me asking me what’s going on? are you ok?? did i do sth wrong _

_ NO, _ Donghyuck replies. _ Just…Jaden was there and I needed an excuse to go _ . He sends a couple running-man emojis to emphasize the point. _ And don’t text Mark back I don’t know why he’s being so nosy. _Angry-face emoji. 

_ I told him you wanted a job, _Jisung writes. 

_ A job?????? _

Jisung doesn’t text him back, probably because he’s getting stoned or playing video games. Or both, if Jaemin’s involved. 

Donghyuck has half a mind to storm downstairs and get mad at Jisung, but he stops in his tracks when he sees a girl trying to climb over the tall gate in front of Jaemin’s house. It’s one of those that you need a code to get into, that auto-locks with a _ buzz _when someone goes through the little side gate and comes with a clicker to put in cars. 

“Yo!” Donghyuck shouts at her. He’s not super worried about her—she looks young, and the surprise in her face when Donghyuck shouts is genuine enough. “Why are you trying to climb Jaemin’s gate?” 

“Um,” she says, slowly sliding back down to the ground. “I’m Jaemin’s girlfriend.” 

Donghyuck squints at her. She’s short, with broad shoulders and curly hair that makes her face look extra round. A silver stud glints in her nose. 

“No you’re not,” Donghyuck says slowly. 

“Yes I am,” she says defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s been hiding me for this exact reason. Because he knew how his friends would react.” 

“That’s—_what_,” Donghyuck says, shaking his head. “You—Jaemin’s _ gay, _dude.” 

The girl’s face falls for a half-second. “I’m Jisung’s girlfriend, then,” she announces. “Jisung Park? About yea-high,” she gestures far above her head, “dorky ears, runs errands?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, “I know him. And I still don’t believe you.” 

The girl’s eyes widen, and she takes off running just as Donghyuck starts towards her. Her sneakers scrape against the asphalt, hair bouncing behind her like a massive brown cloud. 

“Oh my god,” Donghyuck sighs. “She could at least make it _ harder _for me.” 

It takes him three seconds to catch up, effortlessly grabbing the girl by the back of her coat. She trips and nearly falls flat on her face, but Donghyuck hauls her upright. She struggles, trying to get out of her coat to flee, but Donghyuck practically lifts her off the ground—she protests at that—and marches her back to the front gate. 

“How the _ hell _are you so strong?” she demands, struggling against his grip. 

“I’m calling Jaemin,” Donghyuck informs her. 

“Wait wait wait,” the girl interrupts. “I promise I wasn’t trying to break in. You’re right—I’m not Jisung’s girlfriend—” 

“Well, duh,” Donghyuck says, rolling his eyes. “You’re a shitty liar.” 

“I _ know_,” the girl says. “You don’t have to remind me. Anyway, the point is, um—” She pauses, frowning. “What was the point?” 

“Jisung,” Donghyuck prompts impatiently. Maybe he should call the police, since Jaemin is probably too stoned to do anything useful. 

“Right, right,” the girl says, nodding. “I _ do _know Jisung. We were in the same foster care system for a while, and we use the same courier service app.” 

“So you also break into people’s houses to deliver body armor?” 

The girl blinks. “What? No. Well, theoretically, I could, depending on the request, but mostly it’s, like, plagiarism and test-taking stuff. Rich people will pay for pretty much anything.” 

“You take people’s _ tests _for them?” 

“Sure,” the girl says. “College entrance exams, mostly.” She beams proudly. “I’m super fucking smart.” 

“Not very fast, though,” Donghyuck reminds her. “What’s your name?” 

The girl opens her mouth to reply, but Jisung beats her to it, marching out of Jaemin’s house with the gate clicker in hand. 

“Rachel, what the hell are _ you _ doing here?” he asks, sounding more confused than angry. “I thought you were doing errands?” He looks at Donghyuck, holding her tightly. “And why’s Donghyuck holding you like you’re under arrest?” 

“Because I was about to be,” she says, grinning. “Breaking and entering. Almost. All because you’re incapable of texting back.” 

“Oh, man, I’m pissed off about that too,” Donghyuck adds, and figures now’s a fine time to release Rachel, since she’s probably not going to run now that Jisung’s here. “I asked _ what job _and you never replied.” 

“Speaking of jobs,” Rachel tacks on, “that’s why I’m here. Mallory found all the cash under your bed and she wants to make sure you’re not a drug dealer.” 

Jisung sighs. “Really?” 

Rachel shrugs. “You’re lucky I got here before she did, or she’d be beating your ass right now.” 

“Who’s Mallory?” Donghyuck asks. “And are you a drug dealer?” 

“Mallory runs our foster center, and no, I’m not,” Jisung says. He turns to Rachel. “Can you call her and tell her I’ll be back in a few hours? I’ve got a job to run right now, actually.” 

“No can do,” Rachel says. “She says right now, or you’re out.” 

“I can do the job for you,” Donghyuck volunteers, and both Rachel and Jisung light up. 

“Now _ there’s _an idea,” Rachel says approvingly. Jisung nods, and gestures to Donghyuck’s phone. “Download the app, first—” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Donghyuck says, holding up a hand. “It’s an _ app? _ You’re telling me you’re doing shady things via an _ app_?” 

“Well, technically, it’s all legal,” Jisung says. “It’s more of a matter of morals.” 

Donghyuck thinks about it for a second and decides that if he hasn’t cared about morals before, he’s certainly not going to start now. “Okay, what app?” 

“It’s called Courier,” Jisung says, and for the next couple minutes, he and Rachel help Donghyuck set up his profile, filling out his age (19) his interests (“You can’t put _ crime-fighting,_” Jisung says. “No, _ violence _is even worse.”) and if he has a car or not (no, he doesn’t, because he’s broke and lives in the middle of a city, so what’s the point?), among other things. He adds both Jisung and Rachel as friends, which lets Jisung transfer the gig over to Donghyuck. 

_ Help wanted, _ the post reads. _ To take a rideshare car and get off at the location, stay for an hour. $75 upon completion, plus free dinner. DM for more details. _

There’s a date and a time at the bottom of the post—today, a few hours from now. Donghyuck messages the original poser—Christa, it says her name is—for the run-down. 

“Thank you so much,” Jisung says, clapping Donghyuck on the shoulder. “Can’t let my rating go down—that’s how I get the big bucks!” 

“Come on, jackass,” Rachel says, tugging on his sleeve. “Nice to meet you, uh—” 

“Donghyuck,” Donghyuck says. “But you can just call me Hyuck, if that’s easier.” 

“Nice to meet you, Donghyuck,” Rachel says. “You’re fast. Call me if you want any harder jobs!” 

Jisung glares at her. “Do not call her if you want harder jobs. You need to let your ribs heal first.” 

“Why is everyone on my case?” Donghyuck wonders, flapping his hand at Rachel and Jisung. “Get out of here and stop telling me what to do.” 

Jisung tosses him the gate clicker. “Tell Jaemin I’ll come back later to get my school stuff, ‘kay? And say bye to Chenle for me.” 

“Chenle’s in there?” Donghyuck asks, turning towards Jaemin’s house, but Jisung and Rachel are already halfway down the driveway, so they don’t hear him. 

“Chenle’s right here,” Chenle says, materializing out of the shadows. Donghyuck jumps and swings at him before he can stop himself, forcing Chenle to teleport away from him, reappearing in the shade of a tree. “Sorry,” he says. “Jaemin sent me up here to see what was taking so long. Who was that girl?” 

“Jaemin’s girlfriend,” Donghyuck says, walking past Chenle towards the house. He presses the clicker, and goes through the side gate, which buzzes and locks behind him. Not an issue for Chenle, of course, who steps back into the shadows and out from underneath the shade of yet another tree. 

“What?” Chenle asks, and Donghyuck rolls his eyes, explaining the whole situation. Chenle jumps to another shadow. 

“Can’t you walk normally,” Donghyuck complains. “You’re making me sick to my stomach.” 

“Sorry,” Chenle says again, and unlike Jisung, he actually means it. “It’s a habit. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t ever get tired?” Donghyuck asks. “I know Twofold can only do a certain amount of teleporting before he runs out of energy.” 

“Not really,” Chenle replies. He purses his lips. “It’s probably because Twofold can go wherever he wants, whenever he wants, no matter the distance. As long as he can visualize it in his mind, right?” 

“According to his Wikipedia page,” Donghyuck says, crossing his arms. He doesn’t know why he’d brought Twofold into the conversation, seeing as he’s still royally pissed-off at him. 

“Well, I can only go as far as my eye can see,” Chenle continues, “and only in shadow. So it’s pretty hard during the summer or the middle of the day.” 

“And you were born with it?” 

Chenle shakes his head. “I got it as soon as I moved in with my aunts. My mom died from cancer—” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t know,” Donghyuck interrupts, covering his mouth and feeling like an asshole. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.” 

Chenle shrugs. “I mean, it’s sad, and I miss her, but it was a long time ago. And it feels good to talk about her. Anyways, yeah, she couldn’t afford the cure, because what’s-her-face jacked the price up too high.” 

“Heather Dupain?” Donghyuck asks, and when Chenle raises his eyebrows—probably surprised that Donghyuck knows what he’s talking about—Donghyuck smiles smugly. “We just learned about her in my philosophy class. Her mom cured cancer, right? And she started charging for the treatment in order to pay for her research. The public hated that one, too.” 

Chenle’s normally-cheerful expression flickers as they walk into Jaemin’s house and kick their shoes off. “For good reason,” he says. “If she hadn’t, my mom would’ve lived. My aunts say I manifested then because it was a trauma response, or something, that caused the mutation—apparently the gene runs in my family, because my Aunt Jia has night-vision.” 

“That’s pretty sick,” Donghyuck agrees. “But you’re good now? Happy and all of that?” 

“Real glad I didn’t get sent to the testing facilities,” Chenle says, nodding. Excited voices bounce up from the basement, accompanied by the familiar smell of weed. “They’re playing _ Mario Kart,_” Chenle explains. “But yeah—as long as I don’t shadowstep through school, or in broad daylight, I’m fine.” 

“I’m glad I hit you in the face with a skateboard,” Donghyuck says, patting Chenle on the back.

Chenle’s whole face folds in a smile. “Me too,” he replies, genuine. “Thanks for not letting me stay as a zombie roaming the streets, trespassing and trying to bite people.” 

“Are you talking about the zombie-demons?” Jaemin shouts at them before they’re even fully in the basement, his eyes locked on the TV. “Have you seen many around?” 

“Some,” Donghyuck says, “but the police usually grab them before I can do anything.” 

“Good,” Jaemin says, and turns his on-screen kart with his whole body, tipping sideways into Jeno, who lets him, because he’s a massive pushover and generally resigned to getting twelfth place. 

“Oh, for _ fuck’s _sake,” Jeno groans, as he comes in last. “I hate playing with you guys.” 

Jaemin cackles delightedly, and Renjun throws a pillow at him. 

“Where’s Jisung?” Jaemin asks as Chenle and Donghyuck sit down next to them. Chenle pulls his homework back into his lap, and Donghyuck kicks his feet up onto the messy coffee table. “Yo, watch the bong, dude.” 

“Bong is being watched,” Donghyuck says, giving it a wide berth. “It looks very nice. Did you clean it?” 

“Hell yeah,” Jaemin says very proudly, sticking his chest out. “Renjun convinced me that it wasn’t very economical to keep throwing them out every time they got dirty.” 

“Jaemin, one day, you won’t have your dad’s trust fund and your mom’s very cushy police job to keep you afloat,” Renjun says impatiently. “In other words, take care of your shit because one day you might be broke.” 

“Never,” Jaemin declares. “Jeno’s going to be a doctor and I’ll just marry him. Problem solved.” 

Jeno chokes on his Sprite, and Jaemin grins impishly at him before turning to Donghyuck. “Wanna play?” he asks, holding out an extra controller. 

“Sure,” Donghyuck says, and they wait for Jeno to finish coughing up his lungs before they start. 

They play a few rounds, Donghyuck teaches Chenle how to throw a punch, Jeno looks at his stitches, and Donghyuck tells them all about Jisung and Rachel. Then, just as night is starting to fall—it comes early, these days—Donghyuck gets up off the couch and heads off to help a rich lady. 

* * *

Mrs. Christa Kingston has instant-messaged him back by now, and as Donghyuck takes an Uber (courtesy of Jaemin) to the location she’d sent, he learns what he’s supposed to do. 

It’s a doozy: she’s having an affair with a woman she’s loved for a long time. _ Why is she married to a man? _ Her dad disapproved of her marrying a woman and threatened to cut her and her brother (who’s in rehab right now, paid entirely by her) out of the will entirely and disown them. So she married the man, right, and now she’s trapped in a marriage where she’s unhappy, but she just has to bear it until her dad kicks the bucket. Which is very morbid but also pretty funny, but Donghyuck doesn’t say that. _ So why the need for me? _ Her husband doesn’t trust her anymore, and he has control of all her accounts and can see her location at all times. She’s been forced to get increasingly crafty—thus, this plan. _ What do I need to do, exactly? _Wait at the front door of her fancy townhouse. Get in the Uber with her, go to the restaurant where her husband thinks she’s meeting with friends with her phone. Wait an hour. Give her the phone back, wish her luck, watch her get into the Uber to go back to the prison that is her home and marriage. 

It goes without a hitch. Donghyuck slides into the Uber next to a tall, finely-dressed woman, her mouth pursed and her eyes tired. 

“Donghyuck?” she says, holding her hand to shake. “I realize this may be a little uncomfortable for you—” 

“Not at all,” Donghyuck says, shaking her hand. “I’m glad I can help. Also, free dinner doesn’t hurt.” 

“Order whatever you’d like,” she says. “Would you prefer cash? I can run to the bank on my way back to you. The woman I’m seeing lives just down the block, and there’s an ATM nearby.” 

“That would be awesome,” Donghyuck says. The car pulls up next to a nice restaurant—Donghyuck is aggressively underdressed, and garners a few stares, but he doesn’t care. He and Christa get out, and she hands him her phone and a few bills. “That’s for the meal,” she says. “Keep the change. I’ll give you the rest when I get my phone back.” She smiles wanly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you—you seem like a very nice man—but it’s just precautions.” 

“I’ll guard it with my life,” Donghyuck promises, and they part ways. 

He orders the most expensive thing on the menu—a forty-five dollar lobster thermidor. He has no idea what the hell a _ thermidor _is, but it’s delicious—buttery and mustardy, and so, so good. It’s the best thing he’s eaten in his entire life. 

His aunt texts him halfway through to ask where he is. He says he went out to eat with friends. She doesn’t respond—she’s pissed—but Donghyuck doesn’t care. He turns his phone face-down and orders tiramisu and another lemonade. 

Just over an hour later, he gets an instant message from Christa, saying she’s on her way over. Donghyuck pays the bill with the cash—the waiter raises his eyebrows as Donghyuck hands over a fifty and a twenty—and meets Christa outside, so full he wants to lie down on the sidewalk and take a nap. Christa laughs when she sees his face, and Donghyuck notes that she looks far less beaten-down and tired as she did before. He hands her the cellphone back, which is just starting to light up with text messages, and she hands him a few more folded bills. 

“Thank you,” she says genuinely. “Really.” 

“Don’t thank me,” Donghyuck says. “That was the best meal of my life.” 

“What’d you get?” she asks. 

Donghyuck counts off his fingers. “The honey cheese bread-thing. Lobster thermidor. Tiramisu. Lots of lemonade.” 

Christa nods approvingly. “The lobster here is excellent. Some of the best in the city.” 

“I just picked it because it looked the fanciest,” Donghyuck admits, and Christa laughs again, “but it was really good.” 

“Sounds like tonight was something we both needed,” Christa says. She offers him a smile. “If you ever need another good meal, let me know, and we can do the same thing again.” 

“Thanks,” Donghyuck says, and once again, they part ways. 

His uncle is waiting for him at the tiny kitchen table when Donghyuck gets back, smelling like a fancy restaurant and stuffed full. The elation from the money and the food quickly fades when his uncle fixes him with a disappointed look. 

“Where were you?” he asks. “Your aunt was worried when you didn’t show up for dinner.” 

“I was with friends,” Donghyuck says. 

His uncle crosses his arms. “I thought we made it clear that we want you home at dinner. You missed the time to take your antibiotics.” 

“I’ll just take them now,” Donghyuck sighs, trying to get past his uncle and to his room. “It’s fine.” 

“Don’t walk away while I’m talking to you,” his uncle says, but there’s no threat in his voice, and Donghyuck doesn’t fear/respect him in the same way he did Mya. 

“You’re not my dad,” Donghyuck says, trying not to lose his temper, “and you’re not Mya. And you’ve never given a damn. So don’t pretend like you do.” 

His uncle doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look that hurt, or offended. He just purses his lips—Donghyuck _ hates _ when they do that—and shakes his head. “It cost a lot of money, Donghyuck, to get you fixed up. So the least you can do is respect that, unless you can pay us back.” He raises an eyebrow, and Donghyuck clenches his fists, unable to snap back. He _ doesn’t _ have the money, and his uncle _ knows _that. Anger itches at him, begging to be released, but Donghyuck won’t give his uncle the satisfaction of knowing that he won. 

He turns his back on the kitchen, resisting the urge to slam his bedroom door, and shoots off a text to the group chat, asking if anyone’s up. It’s getting late, and he has class tomorrow—not to mention, he’s got to third-wheel Mark and Jaden’s study date in the afternoon—but there’s a jittery, restlessness to him that he knows will keep him awake until the early hours of the morning. Normally, this would mean texting Mark, who’d show up in front of his dorm with his skateboard, and they’d spend an hour cruising through the city, tussling with people who could jump pretty high or freeze things with their breath, the sort of riffraff powerful enough to be annoying, but not so much that they’re on the police radar. 

He puts his backpack on again and checks his phone. Nobody’s texted him back, which stings more than he’d like to admit. He tries not to feel too betrayed, because he knows there’s a good reason, there always is—but it’s hard, because he’s annoyed and a little stir-crazy, and it’s been a long, emotionally-difficult day. 

“Fine,” he mutters to himself, pulling a hat out of his closet and jamming it onto his head. “Fine,” he says again, sliding open the window over his bed and slinging a leg over the frame.

“Fine,” he says once more. “I’ll take care of myself.” 

* * *

The escape from his aunt and uncle’s apartment is so easy that Donghyuck could cry. He’s done it so many times at this point that he could probably do it with his eyes closed. Actually, he _ knows _he can, because once he and Mark had fought this lady with the rather annoying ability to create blinding flashes of light every time she clapped her hands—Mark had called her Flashbang, which had been one of his most creative names—and by the end of the fight, Donghyuck had been so disoriented he’d been forced to take the train back, rather than the streets and rooftops. 

There’s a slight squeeze in his chest at the memory, bitter nostalgia clogging his throat as he shimmies his way out of the window. There’s no fire escape or anything like that on his aunt and uncle’s building—but there’s one on the building across from theirs. 

The gap is short—less than six feet—and Donghyuck has calluses built from years of sword-use and stunts just like this, so catching himself on the freezing metal rungs is a piece of cake and completely painless. Well, save for the painful stretch of the stitches, but he pointedly ignores it and descends the ladder quickly, shifting his weight habitually to avoid the squeaky spots. 

A train rattles over his head as he starts down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. He wants to break into a run, but every breath hurts. Chunky brick facades and ladders and stairs on the sides of buildings call to him, but he can’t climb, either. Whispers rise from alleyways and things change hands, but Donghyuck keeps his eyes on the sidewalk, furious, angry tears stinging his eyes. He hates Taeil for banning him and he hates his stupid body for betraying him, hates his goddamn friends for not answering his texts, hates himself so _ fucking _ much for not being _ okay _with any of it. He hates Mark and Jaden, not being a vigilante anymore, the zombie-demons, the way the city hides things from him nowadays. 

It’s cold and windy, and Donghyuck’s getting closer to campus, but there are still so many cops around. They sit in their cars, their eyes on the shadows, looking dangerously alert. Not for lawbreakers—for something worse. The prison outbreak had shaken the city, and everyone seems to be holding their breath, waiting for the next bad thing to happen. Twofold’s got a press conference scheduled, to reassure everyone that the police have everything under control, that this is just another anomaly that will get taken care of.

Donghyuck thinks differently, but who’s going to listen to him? Nobody, that’s who, because he’s just a kid, and a fucked-up at that. 

The guy running convenience store register really doesn’t want to sell him any vodka, but Donghyuck has a very convincing fake and an expression that says _ don’t fuck with me. _He walks out with it and a bottle of soda, and his feet carry him without thinking towards the abandoned construction site—very convenient because it’s big, empty, dark, and close to campus. He’s been here less frequently since Mark convinced him to stop wrecking things for no reason, but there’s still that familiar feeling of relief as he locates the tear in the chain-link fence he’d made about a year ago, when he’d just started college. Mark hadn’t died yet, they hadn’t started being vigilantes, and all that Donghyuck had to worry about was passing his intro classes and figuring out how to make his best friend love him back. 

It doesn’t take very long for the world to start tilting, the vodka vanishing faster than he’d like. It doesn’t do much to fill the gnawing hole in his chest, but it does ease the pain in his ribs. And when he feels like he’s going to cry, he starts punching through half-finished drywall and kicks down concrete steps. He runs and jumps and flips—his ankles and knees will hurt tomorrow, that’s for sure—until he runs out of breath. 

He sits down, hard, lying down with his head on his backpack. The world spins awfully around him, the concrete supports wavering like trees in the wind. Two plastic trash cans cast dramatic shadows in the artificial light, huddled close together. Donghyuck wishes he had that. He wishes he had someone to stand close to. _ God, _ he’s so pathetic he’s jealous of fucking _ trash cans. _

He wishes Mark were here, because the space between his arms is cold and Mark will always, always let Donghyuck hold him. Even when he says _ dude you’re freezing _ or _ come on I’m trying to work _ or even _ you’re squeezing too tight_, Mark lets Donghyuck put his chin on his shoulder or his arms around his waist. And it’s moments like those where he doesn’t feel like a volatile weapon, or an angry, lost boy. He feels safe. Steady. Whole. 

“Mark Lee does not love me,” Donghyuck says out loud, and the words break his heart.

He will not cry. He will not cry. 

He takes another shot. 

_ I will not cry. _

* * *

Donghyuck doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up, still in the construction site. His whole body aches, and a chill has set into his bones. He sits up slowly, wincing at the pull in his side and the ache in his head. He’s still drunk, but it’s no longer fun anymore—he’s just off-balance and nauseated. 

His ribs throb again, and he gingerly lifts his jacket and hoodie away to see that his t-shirt is soaked through with blood. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. His stomach churns dangerously as he gets to his feet, breathing through his nose. His ribs hurt so badly he can feel it in his knees, and he slowly leans down to pick his phone up. It’s filled with so many text messages and missed calls the screen is entirely obscured; Donghyuck ignores all of them so he can check the time. 

5:45 in the morning.

“Fucking goddamn _ shit_,” he swears, kicking at his backpack and immediately regretting it as pain sweeps over him again, making him stagger to the side. He almost loses his balance but catches himself on the wall, which immediately fills his palm with splinters. 

He still has a few hours before class, but his aunt and uncle are definitely awake by now, so going back to their place will only get him busted. A hospital, for the same reason, is a no-go; Jaemin’s house is too far—Jisung lives in a foster home, Chenle has aunts that love and care about him, and they’ll ask questions…

Which leaves Jeno and Mark’s house. Ideal because Jeno will know how to fix him, unideal because the thought of having to face Mark right now, like this, is almost enough to make Donghyuck vomit. But he doesn’t really have any other choice—it’s either that or, like, lie down on the street and pass away. 

The idea is a little tempting, he’s gotta admit. The scooped-out feeling in his chest is awful, and looking at the damage he’d caused last night is embarrassing. 

His hands shake a little as he shoulders his backpack, zipping up his jacket so the massive bloodstain is less obvious. He brushes the dirt off as best he can and squeezes through the chain link fence and back to the street, where the city is just starting to come alive with joggers, dog-walkers, and sleepy-eyed shift workers with tumblers of coffee. 

He only has half a fifth of vodka in his backpack, and anxiety and hunger both gnaw at the pit in his stomach, and he stops at the same convenience store on his way to Mark and Jeno’s apartment. It’s a different cashier, thank god, but he still gets a strange look as he puts a bag of chips, a toaster pastry, and a sparkling water down on the counter. 

“Can I also get a pack of those,” Donghyuck says, and points at a box of cigarettes. 

“ID, please,” the cashier asks tonelessly, and Donghyuck fumbles for his ID—the real one, this time—as the cashier pulls the pack out and tosses it onto the counter. After a perfunctory glance at Donghyuck’s ID, she rings him up. 

Donghyuck texts Jeno with one hand as he opens his toaster pastry with his teeth. His mouth is so dry, and the pastry doesn’t help, but it makes his stomach feel a little better.

_ Dude we were all super worried, _ Jeno replies. _ Where’d you go? _

_ Campus, _Donghyuck replies evasively, cramming the rest of the toaster pastry in his mouth and taking the plastic wrap off the cigarette box. His hands shake as he pulls one out, fumbling for the lighter inside his backpack. 

He feels dirty and gross as he lights one up, but it soothes the ragged edges of his nerves as he inhales. His uncle had kicked his habit a few years back, and Donghyuck, in turn, had started to pick it up—until his friends had staged an intervention. There’d been a stint with vaping, but that had been a turn-off for the guy he’d been hooking up with at the time, and besides, the way Mark’s face got when he brought it out at parties—

Donghyuck shakes his head and takes a right. _ I’m almost there, _he texts Jeno. 

_ I’m waiting out front, _Jeno writes back. 

Donghyuck makes sure to put his cigarette out way before he gets to Jeno’s apartment, but when Jeno leans in to hug him, his nose wrinkles. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jeno says, frowning. “Did you smoke?” 

“No,” Donghyuck says. “I was at a bar earlier.” 

Jeno doesn’t look convinced, and Donghyuck moves to cross his arms, but the torn stitches in his side scream at him. He winces, and Jeno’s eyes narrow. 

“You’d better come inside,” Jeno says, but he doesn’t sound angry—just tired, and maybe a little sympathetic. He’s still in his pajamas, and Donghyuck feels a pang of guilt. 

“Please don’t tell Mark,” Donghyuck whispers as he follows Jeno up the stairwell. The pack of cigarettes in his backpack feel like they’re burning a hole through him. 

Jeno sighs, but doesn’t protest. “Fine,” he says. “He’s still asleep, though, so we gotta be quiet.” He pushes open the door to their apartment. 

“You go shower,” Jeno says, nudging Donghyuck towards the bathroom. “You stink.” 

Donghyuck hands Jeno his backpack and inches towards the shower. “I think I tore my stitches,” he whispers, and Jeno sighs again, so heavily that Donghyuck feels even worse. “I’m sorry,” he adds, but Jeno just shakes his head, waving Donghyuck off. 

“It’s fine,” Jeno says, and Donghyuck can tell by his face that he’s not lying—but it still feels like he’s let him down, somehow. 

It’s a gross, shitty feeling that doesn’t wash off no matter how hard he scrubs, the shower water just shy of burning. He doesn’t look at the stitches on his side, or at the bruises and scrapes that he can feel on his knees and elbows. The heat helps with some of the knots in his shoulders and neck, but he still feels all-around awful as he gets out of the shower, carefully stepping back into his underwear and jeans, leaving his shirt and hoodie off. 

“Grab the first-aid kit from under the sink,” Jeno says when he opens the bathroom door. Donghyuck does, and follows Jeno into his room, shutting the door behind him. 

Jeno moves in close and squints. “How the fuck did you do this? Didn’t the doctor say you shouldn’t be exercising?” 

“She did,” Donghyuck says, feeling very small, “but, um, I—last night wasn’t good.” His knuckles throb a little at the memory. 

Jeno prods at a tender spot, and Donghyuck hisses. 

“Jeez, sorry,” Jeno says. “You’ve got a gnarly scratch there. Did you fall?” 

“Um,” Donghyuck says, wracking his brain. “Probably?” 

“Well, good news is, you didn’t tear your stitches. I’m guessing it’s this scratch right here that bled that much.” 

“Can you fix it?” Donghyuck asks. “I don’t wanna go to the hospital.” 

Jeno pats Donghyuck on the back, and relief breaks over Donghyuck’s shoulders, the first good thing he’s felt in the last twenty-four hours. “I can fix it,” he confirms. “You just gotta hold still.” 

A few minutes later, Donghyuck is clean and bandaged, and wearing one of Jeno’s shirts. He sits on the couch as Jeno sticks a couple slices of bread in the toaster, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter. 

“Hyuck, dude, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jeno says. “It’s been—what, a week since you got out of the hospital? And you’re already back to smoking and punching things?” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. Jeno is the one friend that he has that’s impossible to argue with, and he’s looking at Donghyuck with so much concern that all the fight drains out of Donghyuck. 

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck says again, curling into the couch cushions. He wants another cigarette, and then immediately hates himself for thinking that. He closes his eyes and tries not to think. “I want everything to go back to normal.” 

“I know, dude,” Jeno says. The bread pops out of the toaster, and Jeno starts to put peanut butter on one slice. “Kun said—” 

“_Kun? _” Donghyuck asks, bolting upright. “What? You saw him?”

Jeno’s expression goes blank for a second before he shakes his head. “At the hospital,” he says, turning to stick the two halves of his peanut butter and jelly together. “He said that things were gonna get worse.” 

“How so?” 

“I don’t know,” Jeno says carefully. “He didn’t specify.” He turns back around and shrugs, and Donghyuck decides to not feel betrayed, because it sounds like pretty typical Ten-and-Kun behavior.

“Ten and Kun are cryptic for no reason,” Donghyuck says, leaning back into the couch and yawning. “Maybe we should go see them soon. I wonder what they thought about the prison break?” 

Jeno shrugs again. “That’s a good idea,” he says. “Hey, don’t fall asleep there. Mark will see you.” 

“Mm,” Donghyuck says, pulling himself off the couch. “Can I crash in your bed?” 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Jeno says. “Just don’t forget to set an alarm or you’ll miss class.” 

Donghyuck waves over his shoulder, and collapses face-first into Jeno’s bed, pulling the blankets up. His aching, exhausted body eases into the mattress, and sleep, hovering behind the throbbing hangover, starts to close in on him. 

Somewhere in there, at the edges of his consciousness, there’s Mark’s voice, and Jeno’s—

_ Did you hear from Donghyuck? _

_ Yeah, he’s fine, got home safe. _

_ I’m worried about him. _

_ Didja tell him that? _ Jeno sounds a little like he’s laughing. _ He’d probably like to hear it. _

_ No—you know how he is. Besides, Jaden doesn’t— _

Like it can sense another heartbreak coming, Donghyuck’s mind pulls away from the sound of their voices and folds him into sleep, gently, carefully, like he hadn’t just spent the night trying to break himself into a hundred tiny pieces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg you guys this next chapter is gonna be
> 
> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	13. interlude: put your secrets in your pockets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boy with many secrets, he'd been called. Not many of them are his, but the ones that are weigh extra heavy on his shoulders.

The foster care system tries its best to chew Jisung Park into tiny little pieces, and everyone expects him to fall apart. The people he stays with when he’s younger tell him he’s going to fail. Jisung owes them his life, technically, because the more the world roots for him to get knocked down, the more determined he is to stay standing. 

Mallory’s house is a bit of a break—he’s able to start school again after two years in and out of houses that always ended in disaster—and so are the friends he makes there. Rachel, in particular, who gets him set up with Courier. He makes a hundred dollars in under a month doing things like delivering packages—yeah, it’s sketchy as hell, but there’s little else he can do—running errands for rich ladies with pinched faces and exhausted-looking stay-at-home parents who just need groceries. From there, it’s easy to fall into trading something a little less tangible but twice as dangerous. People ask for blackmail material, for intel. They hand him envelopes to burn or bags to toss in the river, pictures to shred and scatter from the rooftops. Jisung is told that he’s sweet and clever and a good listener, and that he’s quick on his feet. The relief on these people’s faces is hilarious—_f__inally, _ they think, _ nobody will know that I hit that man with my car and drove off. Nobody will know that I slept with her brother. _

“Your secrets are safe with me,” Jisung says, and the thing is, he means it. People will always offer money for the information he’s sent to destroy—and even more for the things he _ remembers_—but he hasn’t gotten this far by spilling secrets, so keeps his cards close to his chest and plays them only when he needs to. 

It’s far too much nefarious nonsense for the average seventeen-year-old to be getting into. But Jisung has never had the time _ or _the money to be average, so he treads lightly and smiles brightly and hopes that he won’t get his ass kicked. 

* * *

Fast forward a few months. Nope, not that far—Donghyuck isn’t supposed to know about that until his ribs are better—

There. 

The scene is: Jisung, standing in a very nice kitchen, clutching a package to his chest and feeling immensely glad that there’s a counter between him and the boy with the bottle of olive oil in his hand. 

(He learns later that Jaemin is actually the most harmless out of all of them. Jaemin himself even admits that there’s no way he’d ever hurt Jisung, not with a face like _ that._) 

“Dude, gross,” Jisung says, but his heart hurts with affection, at this tight-knit group of friends with varying levels of deadliness that have folded him into their lives without batting an eye. 

Jaemin had threatened him with oil, Donghyuck had tossed Mark into the wall like a sack of flour, and Mark’s face had healed in less than five seconds. This all occurred within fifteen minutes of breaking into Jaemin’s stupid fancy house with a package from a mysterious sender who insisted that it needed to be delivered face-to-face, no matter what. Kun later apologizes for that, but Jisung just shakes his head. If he hadn’t broken into Jaemin’s house, where would he be now?

His friends make him feel normal. Even Chenle, who flits from shadow to shadow and makes Jisung’s head hurt. Even Renjun, who flicks Jisung on the neck when he says something bratty on purpose. Even Donghyuck, who is a massive shitshow, still looks at Jisung with an immense amount of fondness when he thinks Jisung isn’t looking. The two of them come from similar places—Jisung knows Donghyuck thinks of his friends like family. Jisung gets it, because he’s starting to feel the same. 

_ Friends are like magic _ , Jisung decides, high for the first time in Jaemin’s basement. _ These guys are all a little whacked-up in the head_, he adds, sitting in Mark and Jeno’s small kitchen doing his homework, _ but I love them just the same. _

And they, too, bring their secrets to Jisung. Jeno talks about not living up to his potential and Renjun tells him about a terrible relationship. Jaemin cries—which is terrifying, Jisung doesn’t know what to do with his hands when people cry—and talks about his mom. Chenle mentions the test he cheated on, how he’s on the verge of failing math. Mark talks about his tattoo and Donghyuck. Donghyuck talks about learning to shoot at age ten and how he’s in love with Mark. (That last one is annoying. _ Don’t tell me! _ Jisung wants to shout. _ Tell Mark! Jesus-fucking-Christ, Donghyuck!) _

They trust him with the smallest, darkest parts of themselves, and Jisung treats each of their secrets like glass, carefully storing them away. They remember so much about him—the classes he likes, who he plays in _ Mario Kart, _what he likes on his pizza—so Jisung tries to do the same. 

Which is why it breaks his heart, a little, when he knocks on Kun’s apartment door, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His phone buzzes—Rachel asking if he’s gonna be back for dinner or Donghyuck, maybe, telling Jisung they’re all on their way to McDonald’s if he wants to come. 

He doesn’t want to be _ that _guy, the one with the secrets. But secrets have put new shoes on his feet and money in his pocket and the safety of living through another night. Secrets have even brought him the very friends he’s about to lie to. 

Kun opens the door, brow furrowed. “Jisung,” he says, and he sounds tired. 

“Hi,” Jisung says quietly. His stomach hurts in the way it always does when he’s anxious. Another thing that secrets have paid for—the medication to make his anxiety manageable. “Do you have something for me?” 

Kun sighs heavily. “Yeah,” he says, opening the door wider. “But you’re going to want to sit down.” 


	14. doctor's orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky darkens with rain, and the weather cools. Donghyuck's friends have a lot of things to say, but he's tired of listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry in advance for this one i promise it's necessary and everything gets resolved
> 
> the next bit is coming soon it was supposed to be one chapter but it got too long i hope that's okay with everyone :( big thanks to lil for soothing my rampant insecurities and to roosa, as always. 
> 
> please enjoy!

He dreams about kissing Mark, of course, so when he wakes for the second time that day he’s drenched in sweat and shame. 

He checks the time—just past two in the afternoon, meaning he’s missed all his classes for the day. Oh well. He suspects he wouldn’t have learned much if he’d gone anyway. He texts a classmate to get notes from philosophy and Stats, and finally opens up all the messages his friends had sent him last night, and this morning. There’s a bunch of surprisingly touching stuff from Jaemin, some vague threats from Renjun, a hundred question marks from Chenle. Jisung has told him to call Mark three times in a row. 

Mark, meanwhile, hasn’t said much—a perfunctory _ are you okay? _ from around one in the morning, and _ are you still coming to study w me and Jaden? _from about half an hour ago. 

_ Don’t feel good, _Donghyuck texts back, sliding out of Jeno’s bed and stretching slowly, careful not to disrupt the bandages on his chest. 

There’s the faint buzz of a cell phone from the other side of the door, meaning Jeno’s back from school already. Which is good—Donghyuck doesn’t particularly want to be alone right now. 

“Hey,” Donghyuck starts, opening the door—and stops in his tracks, because it’s not Jeno standing in the kitchen, but Mark, a kombucha in one hand and his phone in the other. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline when he sees Donghyuck, who freezes in place, wondering if he should make a break for it and toss himself out of the window before Mark can ask—

“Were you here the whole time?” 

_ Fuck, _Donghyuck thinks. He forces a smile onto his face, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. Mark eyes him warily, like he can sense Donghyuck’s burning desire to bolt from the room. 

“Um, yes?” Donghyuck says. It sounds like a question. “I had a rough night.” 

“Does Jeno know you’re here?” Mark asks, frowning. Donghyuck doesn’t like the look on his face one bit—like he’s on the verge of getting his feelings hurt and making Donghyuck feel like an even shittier, worse person. 

“Yes,” Donghyuck says, because lying will only complicate things further. But he doesn’t offer any more explanation, and Mark doesn’t push. He just looks at Donghyuck with that small frown, mouth pulling down at the corners. “Don’t you have to go meet Jaden?”

Mark’s frown deepens. He looks down at his phone and back up at Donghyuck. “No,” he says, and Donghyuck blinks in surprise. 

“Isn’t it Wednesday?” he asks, reaching for his own phone to double-check. 

Mark sticks his unopened kombucha into his backpack pocket. “Yeah,” he says, picking up his skateboard. “Get your stuff,” he says, gesturing at Donghyuck. “Let’s go get something to eat. You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t move, not sure if he’s still dreaming or not. Mark grabs his jacket off the back of the couch and tosses it to him, nodding his head in the direction of the door. 

Donghyuck catches his jacket, slowly putting it on. “But what about Jaden?” 

“He’ll understand,” Mark says. “You’re my best friend, Hyuck. I’m worried about you.” He types something out on his phone and then looks back up. “Ready? Renjun and Jisung said they’d meet us at the grocery store. Apparently Jisung wants to dye his hair.” 

“That’s a terrible idea,” Donghyuck croaks, and clears his throat. Warmth hums in the center of his chest, easing some of the ache in his bones. “None of us know how to dye hair.” 

“I know,” Mark agrees, locking the apartment door behind them as Donghyuck puts his jacket on. “But he wants to, so that’s what we’re going to do.” 

The sun is warm on Donghyuck’s face, and Mark skateboards along next to Donghyuck, unusually chatty. It’s probably because he senses something’s up with Donghyuck, big time, and is trying to find a way to ask about it. 

He doesn’t bring it up until they’re in the grocery store, Donghyuck detaching a cart to push through the aisles. 

Mark tosses a bag of clementines into the cart and finally asks, “Are you really okay, Hyuck?” 

Donghyuck doesn’t answer for a long second. The parts of him that he’d torn open last night, both emotionally and physically, throb at the question. He doesn’t want to lie to Mark—has _ rarely _ lied to him, because he’d _ promised not to, _all those years ago—but he also doesn’t want to tell him the truth. 

_ I had a crisis because I don’t know what I am without fighting something and also by the way, I’m in love with you. _

“Hey, guys,” Jisung interjects behind them, and Donghyuck tries not to let too much relief show on his face as he turns around to greet them. Jisung immediately asks Mark about his skateboard and Renjun gives Donghyuck a knowing look. 

“You should talk to him,” Renjun advises. 

“I know,” Donghyuck sighs, and they leave it at that. 

The rest of the afternoon is fun and easy, a balm on his frayed nerves and worn-out mind. Jisung buys bleach and a shade of blue that Mark looks offended by and Renjun says will get him kicked out of school, but neither of them can convince him not to buy it. 

“And then it’ll wash out and I’ll be blonde just like I’ve always wanted to be,” Jisung adds, and Renjun rolls his eyes as he puts it in his shopping basket. 

Mark has a list of actual food to get through, because he and Jeno don’t have access to the dining hall like Donghyuck does, who buys mostly snacks. Jisung debates on buying air freshener for Jaemin, because he smells so strongly of weed that it’s a miracle his mom hasn’t caught on yet. 

“And I love Jaemin, but I love his mom more,” Jisung says. “She’s the best.” 

They pass through the baked goods section, grabbing some donut holes for Chenle and a cheese Danish for Jaemin, because he likes weird things like that, and then they check out. Donghyuck hands over some of the cash he’d made from Christa’s errand last night, manages to cram all of his snacks into his backpack, and meets his friends at the front of the store. Jisung cradles his boxed dye in his arms, and Mark is trying to figure out how to hold his two bags in one hand. 

“I have my mom’s car,” Renjun says, “so we can drop of Mark’s groceries before going to Jaemin’s?” 

“Sounds good,” Mark agrees, and they all pile into Renjun’s mom’s fancy compact, Jisung calling shotgun before any of them can open their mouths. 

“Dude, no fair,” Donghyuck complains. “You’re the youngest.” 

“But I’m also the tallest,” Jisung points out. “My knees will be squished.” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to resort, but Renjun gives him a truly deadly look, so he shuts up and sits in the back with Mark. He spends the two minutes from the grocery store to Mark’s apartment kicking the back of Jisung’s seat, which actually vents some of his frustration and makes him feel less like he’s going to explode.

An ominous feeling swoops over him as he and Mark pull Mark’s groceries out of Renjun’s trunk. Mark promises to be quick, and Donghyuck keeps his mouth shut as they make their way to Mark’s floor. Mark doesn’t say anything either, but Donghyuck gets a terrible feeling that he’s going to try and continue their conversation from the grocery store. 

He’s _ still _ not ready to lie—but he’s not ready to tell the truth, either. 

Mark fumbles for the keys in his pocket, and Donghyuck reaches over and takes the grocery bag from him without thinking. Mark pauses, and the corner of his mouth quirks. “Thanks,” he says, far too quiet, and Donghyuck’s heart jumps in his chest, hands already sweating. 

Jeno still isn’t back, which is even worse, because now Mark’s _ definitely _going to ask him. They haven’t had a moment like this, truly alone, in a while. There is nothing but them and the stillness of the apartment, the rustle of bags and the sound of cabinets opening and closing as they put the groceries away. 

Donghyuck doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Mark finally speaks, and he exhales. 

“Where’d you go last night?”

“Nowhere,” Donghyuck replies, a knee-jerk reaction. Mark catches him easily in the lie, putting his bell peppers away and standing, arms crossed over his chest. “The construction site,” Donghyuck amends softly, looking away. “I told you—it wasn’t a good night.” 

“Why?” Mark asks. Simple. Straightforward. No judgement, no prying curiosity—just an open-ended question, like he’s genuinely ready to hear Donghyuck lay the truth on him. “Because of Taeil?” 

“A little,” Donghyuck admits. “I miss beating up bad guys.” He peeks at Mark, who nods at him encouragingly. “I feel restless…_ useless, _too, now that I’m not doing it. I realized I don’t have any hobbies besides hitting stuff.” 

Mark laughs, and something in Donghyuck’s chest eases just slightly at the sound. “We can find you one,” he says, and then his expression sobers. “But I see where you’re coming from. That’s gotta be—I can’t even imagine how much this sucks for you.” He reaches out and puts a tentative hand on the base of Donghyuck’s neck—the magic touch, the one that grounds him, puts him back in his own skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck says, closing his eyes. “I am.” 

“For what?” Mark asks, genuinely confused, and Donghyuck really almost blurts it all out right then and there. But then Mark goes, “you’re my best friend, Hyuck. I, um—I really _ do _worry about you.” 

_ Best friend _spins through Donghyuck’s head, mocking him, and he pulls away from Mark’s touch. “There’s no reason to,” Donghyuck promises him, mustering up a smile. “Really.” 

Mark’s face falls. He knows Donghyuck is lying—Donghyuck _ knows _ he knows—and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. He’s not going to try and force the truth from Donghyuck, or cross his arms and stubbornly refuse to budge until Donghyuck tells him what’s up. (The latter, he’s done before—Mark Lee’s so stubborn he could give Donghyuck a run for his money, honestly). But it’s like he senses the snarled mess in Donghyuck’s chest, and is thinking _ not now, not today. _Donghyuck is thinking the same thing. 

_ But if not now, _ Donghyuck thinks, watching Mark try to rearrange the disappointment and hurt on his face into something more cheerful, _ then when? _

* * *

Mark doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the evening, and Donghyuck is able to relax, at least somewhat. Jaemin’s mom comes home as they’re playing an aggressive round of _ Mario Kart, _Jisung sitting against the coffee table with bleach drying in his hair. There’s a scramble to put away all evidence of law-breaking—the bong goes under a blanket, and Renjun sweeps all the beer cans into a trash bag, tossing it to Donghyuck, who hurls it into a corner with unnecessary force. They’ve just arranged themselves in convincingly innocent positions, resuming their game, when Jaemin’s mom pokes her head into the basement. 

“Hi, boys,” she says. Her eyes are tired, but she offers them a smile. “It’s good to see everyone.” 

“Are you home for the night?” Jaemin asks, and his mom gives him a fond look. 

“Sorry, baby,” she says sympathetically. “I’m not staying—I just came to change my clothes. I have to head back to the office.” 

“Aw,” Jaemin says, pulling himself up off the couch and going over to hug her. Renjun rolls his eyes. _ Mama’s boy, _ he mouths at Donghyuck, who grins and shakes his head. There’s a part of him that’s jealous of Jaemin, a piece of the boy that had curled into himself when Mya had told him _ do not ask about your parents, Hyuck. _ All he’d known about his mother was that they’d shared a last name, and that this was what she had wanted for her son. Supposedly. Donghyuck can’t imagine _ anybody _wishing for the sort of life he had—being trained into a living weapon until age fourteen, and then promptly dropped off on the doorstep of two people who had no idea what to do with an angry teenager. 

Jaemin’s mom kisses the crown of his head. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she tells him, and then waves to the rest of them. “Have fun!” 

“Jaemin, your mom is so great,” Jisung says when she’s gone, and they’ve moved from _ Mario Kart _ to _ Super Smash Bros_. “It’s so cool that she’s a cop.” 

“Usually, yeah, it’s super rad,” Jaemin agrees, selecting Peach because he’s a little bitch. “But not as cool nowadays, with those things running around.” 

“Have you guys heard anything from Ten or Kun about them?” Donghyuck asks. “Do we know who’s behind it?” 

Jeno looks up from his homework abruptly. Jisung slides a sideways glance at Renjun, who shrugs. 

“I mean, there’s shady stuff happening everywhere,” Renjun says. “The shit at Macroshot—remember Kun talking about the prototypes? So they’re up to something for sure.” 

“The zombie-demons are probably a whole different thing,” Mark says. On-screen, Inkling Girl dances over a side attack from Jisung, who’s playing as Pikachu. “Like, they’re a technology company. What are they doing with viruses?” 

“You’re right,” Donghyuck says, sighing. “Fuck, that means we’ve gotta deal with _ two _threats?” 

“We’re not dealing with _ anything_,” Renjun reminds him. “We’re keeping out of this. Right, Mark?” 

“I find it hard to believe that _ you _ of all people are talking about keeping _ out _of something,” Jaemin remarks casually.

“Shut _ up_,” Renjun says, just as Mark’s character slams Renjun’s off the map. “Damn, Mark, it’s not fair when you play this game, you’ve got that stupid danger sense.” 

“Is Chenle coming?” Jisung asks as Mark knocks him off the map as well. “He’s the only one that I can beat at this game.” 

“He can’t, his aunts grounded him because he broke his curfew last time,” Jaemin says. “Which wasn’t my fault, by the way. I told you it was a bad idea to take high school kids to college parties.” 

“They’re adults,” Renjun says, but then glances down at Jisung, who’s got dye in his hair and cracker crumbs in his lap. “Well, mostly.” 

They finish up their game, and head upstairs where Jaemin successfully cooks dinner—they have to quarantine Mark so he doesn’t try to help, because unlike Donghyuck, he doesn’t _ know _ he’s a cooking disaster—and do their homework with a relative amount of efficiency. And it’s all going good—_great, _even, until Mark’s phone rings. He picks it up before Donghyuck can really look at the caller ID, but he gets a feeling he knows who it is anyway. 

“Hey,” Mark says, and his voice is full with unfamiliar affection, a diffused sort of warmth. _ Is that how Mark sounds when he talks to people he likes? _He wonders, stomach twisting sourly. 

“Oh, shit, really?” Mark says. He gets up from the table, slowly gathering his stuff in front of him with one hand. “Yeah, no worries, I can be there in fifteen.” He hangs up and makes an apologetic face. “Sorry, guys,” he says. “Jaden’s having a crisis. Is it alright if I go?” 

“Yeah, no, of course,” Jaemin says, nodding. “Do what you need to do. We’re good here.” He glances at Donghyuck, who stares at the table, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Mark puts all of his stuff in his backpack, and hovers uneasily by the table. “Donghyuck?” he asks tentatively, and Donghyuck’s hands fist where they rest on his thighs. “Walk me to the door?” 

“Fine,” Donghyuck mumbles, getting to his feet. 

“This is gonna end _ great_,” Jisung says quietly to Jeno, who snickers. Donghyuck spins around and flips them off before following Mark to the foyer. 

“I hope Jaden’s okay,” Donghyuck says, and actually means it. He may want to suplex him so hard he evaporates, or punt him into outer space—but he doesn’t _ genuinely _want to hurt him. Mostly. 

“It’s just about school,” Mark says, shrugging. He puts his hand on the door handle even as he says, “I don’t have to go, if you don’t want me to.” 

“Why would I not want you to?” Donghyuck asks, even as his heart jumps into his throat. 

Mark shrugs again. The tops of his ears are a little pink, but the look he gives Donghyuck is serious. “I don’t know. You just seem—y’know. Worn-out.” 

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Donghyuck says, not as gently as he would’ve liked. Mark’s face falls slightly, and Donghyuck feels like he’s been sucker-punched. He scrambles for a way to salvage the conversation before it turns into a fight, but Mark is opening the door. 

“Alright,” Mark says, and yanks the kombucha out of his pocket with more force than necessary, the only indication that he’s pissed. “Just thought I would ask, you know? Since you’re my best friend.” 

“Don’t be passive-aggressive,” Donghyuck huffs. Mark’s brow creases a little bit, and he twists at the kombucha cap. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Then _ how _did you mean it?” Mark asks. The kombucha cap still doesn’t come off, and it’s funny enough that Donghyuck cracks a tiny smile. 

“Give that to me,” Donghyuck sighs, pulling the bottle from Mark’s grasp and twisting the cap off easily. “I just meant that you don’t need to stay because of me. Go and be a good friend.” 

“But you’re—” Mark starts, and stops himself halfway through the sentence, turning pink again. 

Donghyuck blinks at him. “But I’m what?” 

Mark sighs, and takes the kombucha back. “Nothing, Hyuck. I hope you feel better. Call me if you want to talk again.” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says. His head is spinning a little from all the twists and turns the conversation had taken—as all conversations about matters of the heart do—and he gets the feeling he messed up somewhere, and now Mark is confused and disappointed. 

Unidentifiable sadness quivers in his chest as Mark raises his kombucha in farewell, and Donghyuck watches him leave from the doorway. He doesn’t look back, and Donghyuck sags against the door, wondering if things will ever go back to being easy between them. 

* * *

Donghyuck does his best to stay busy. He takes more jobs with Courier—which is nice because of the money, and the tasks are easy enough. He goes to class, takes the last of his antibiotics, gets his stitches out. Rachel, Jisung’s friend, even texts him one afternoon, asking if he’d like to help her out with a job, because he’s strong and intimidating. Donghyuck certainly doesn’t _ feel _strong and intimidating these days—he feels more like he’s about to cry, all the time—but he agrees anyway, because there are some mean-as-hell boys bothering this girl Rachel tutors, and she offered Rachel fifty bucks to scare them off. 

“She’s the small-and-clumsy type,” Rachel says as they walk down the sidewalk. The air is brisk today, but the sun is out and the birds chirp noisily in the trees. Cars rush past, kicking up fallen leaves that crunch underneath Donghyuck’s sneakers. “She’s got about two working brain cells, and she cries anytime I mention calculus. But she’s so, so sweet—and loaded—so I couldn’t say no.” 

“I don’t know how I feel about punching high schoolers,” Donghyuck says doubtfully. 

“Aw, come on,” Rachel says good-naturedly, elbowing him. “Jisung told me you punched Chenle.” 

“That was _ necessary,_” Donghyuck points out. “And besides, I didn’t punch him.”

“What didja do, then?” 

“I whacked him in the face with a skateboard,” Donghyuck says. 

Rachel bursts into laughter. “That’s even _ worse _,” she says, elbowing him again. “But you can relax, Hyuck. Hopefully we won’t have to hit ‘em. I’ll do the talking, and you can just glower at them and cross your arms.” 

“If you’re talking, why’d you even need me?” Donghyuck asks as Rachel takes a right. A massive high school comes into sight, the first of the after-school crowds filtering out onto the sidewalk. 

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Rachel says, holding her arms out, “but I’m not very physically intimidating.” 

Donghyuck has to agree with that—he’s not super tall himself, but Rachel is genuinely _ short. _Her face smiles even when her mouth doesn’t, and the two buns on top of her head make her look younger than she is. “Fair enough,” he concedes. 

They walk a little farther and stop across the street, in front of the main entrance. Donghyuck watches students depart in twos and threes, memories of his _ own _high school years surfacing whether he likes it or not. 

“These are the guys we’re looking for,” Rachel says, leaning over and showing Donghyuck a picture on her phone. “Jasper Sieg and Benson Michael. They’re in student council until four, apparently, so we’ve got some time.” 

“Ugh, Benson Michael,” Donghyuck sighs, crossing his arms. “Guys with last names that are also first names turn out the worst. Also, B-names. Don’t like guys with B-names.” 

“Why not?” Rachel asks.

“My first kiss was with a guy named Brandon Lovelace,” Donghyuck says, and laughs as he remembers the last time he’d had this conversation with Mark, crouched in the warehouse evading an armed, over-aggressive ballerina. “He mostly just breathed into my mouth. It was pretty awful.” 

Rachel makes a face. “Fuckin’ gross. What was the _ best _kiss you had?” 

Donghyuck has to think about it. He’s kissed a bunch of people—not as many as Renjun, of course, but, like, _ a few _ —and no matter how hard he tries, he can only think of the times he’d _ almost _kissed Mark. 

“Well, so, like,” he starts, wondering if there’s a good way to put this, “I’m sort of in love with my best friend—” 

“Uh-oh,” Rachel says, eyes widening. “That’s not good.” 

“I know, dude, I know,” Donghyuck sighs. “Anyway, so the best kiss I had was actually _ not _a kiss, but when we almost kissed.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Rachel says emphatically. “You really _ are _in love with him. I wanna hear it.” 

“My last year in high school had been the first time I’d almost kissed him,” Donghyuck starts. “We played Truth or Dare. Mark gets flirty-drunk, which always throws me off, and I, y’know, I _ loved _ him. And. Well. The only thing that’d saved us from _ not _kissing was the cops arriving.”

“Wait wait wait,” Rachel says, eyebrows shooting up. “The _ first _time?” 

“Oh boy,” Donghyuck sighs. “Now this is a story.” 

Rachel doesn’t even check her phone. “We’ve got time,” she says. “Lay it on me. I’m invested.” 

“Sorry about the lack of context and possible plot holes in advance,” Donghyuck warns her. “I was very emotional during all of it.” 

“During all of _ what_?” 

“Mark Lee and I used to run around and beat bad guys up,” Donghyuck starts, “but that was only after he died twice and got resurrected incorrectly both times.” 

* * *

It goes like this, for the most part:

The second time they’d almost kissed had been after Mark died the _ first _time, and Donghyuck had rushed him to Ten’s apartment as the police arrived, looking at the guys on the ground and the terrified girl tied to the chair, covered in blood. They’d been loan sharks, Donghyuck remembers, and Mark had stepped in front of the bullet meant for him. 

That’d been the first—and last—person Donghyuck had purposefully killed that year, after he’d gotten Ten’s name from him. The gunshot still echoes in his head, burned into his mind. When Mark had found out that Donghyuck had shot the guy who’d shot _ him _—Donghyuck’s never seen him so serious, pulling Donghyuck close and making him promise not to do it again. Donghyuck had promised, and the look in Mark eyes—they’d been nearly amber in the fading daylight—

They’d almost kissed then, too, completely sober. When Mark had been hit by that bus—a complete accident, but even _ worse _ than him being shot, it’d been so hard to carry his body to Ten’s apartment that time around—Donghyuck had regretted not kissing him. But then Ten had resurrected him again (which had fucked Mark up, but they’d buried that hatchet a few weeks ago) and _ that _ had left him with his danger-sense, which lets him dodge bullets and play _ Super Smash Bros _really well. 

“Also he can’t die,” Donghyuck says, and Rachel’s eyebrows surprise him again by creeping even higher. “And Twofold told us to stop being superheroes, and I have to live with my aunt and uncle again, and they suck.” 

“_Twofold? _ Like _ our _Twofold? Press-conference-giving shield-throwing teleporting Twofold?” Rachel asks. 

Donghyuck scoffs bitterly. “He’s not that great. Sure, he’s super nice and cares a lot about everyone, but he took away the one thing I care about.” 

Rachel pats him on the shoulder. She has to reach a little. “You’re pretty fucked-up,” she tells him matter-of-factly, “but not in an irreversible way. Once you talk about it, I’m sure it’ll all work itself out.” 

Donghyuck is about to argue with her when the boys they’re looking for walk out of the school. 

“Rad,” Rachel says, and they cross the street. They corner the two of them in the opening of an alleyway, casual enough that passersby don’t stare, but they pick a spot that lets the boys know they’re in trouble.

It takes approximately no effort to scare them. Rachel mentions the girl’s name and both of them go pale. Donghyuck makes a dent in the brick wall next to him, and that’s enough to make Rachel’s warning stick. They scramble away as fast as they can, and Donghyuck slaps Rachel’s outstretched hand. 

“Thanks,” Rachel says. “That was fun, yeah? I’ll send half the cash your way as soon as I get it.” 

“No rush,” Donghyuck assures her. “Also, um, thanks for listening. Felt nice to get some of that off my chest. A lot of my friends take Mark’s side, I think, which is fair, but like—still sucks.” 

“Anytime,” Rachel says, and Donghyuck gets the strange feeling she means it. “Text me if you want another job,” she adds when they part. 

“I’m not stealing anything,” Donghyuck says, and Rachel laughs. The sound is infectious, and lifts some of Donghyuck’s weariness. 

“That’s Jisung’s thing, not mine,” she says. “Oh, shit, that’s my bus! Catch you later, Donghyuck!” 

“Bye,” he calls after her, and she raises a hand in farewell before she takes off down the street at a full sprint, catching the bus just before it pulls away from the curb. 

Donghyuck stands on the sidewalk for a second, letting the rush-hour crowd flow around him. He doesn’t want to see any of his friends—he’d gotten into an argument with Renjun last night about the whole vigilante thing, and it’d left him feeling sour—and besides, he’s hungry. 

This is how he ends up at that one deli Jeno likes, where Donghyuck had dumped Mark’s slowly-resurrecting body amongst the dumpsters in the alley next door. He gets roast beef on ciabatta and hands the guys a few bills—luckily, they don’t remember him from when he walked in here covered in blood and armed to the teeth. 

The last thing he’s expecting when he turns around is to see Jisung, sitting at a corner table with his headphones in, taking notes from a massive textbook. Donghyuck blinks a few times to make sure it’s him—it is, offensively blue hair and everything—before heading over, tapping him on the shoulder. Jisung startles and looks up, his face breaking into a wide grin when he sees Donghyuck. 

“What are you doing here?” Jisung asks, leaning over and moving the shiny silver laptop across from him so Donghyuck can sit down. He carefully puts it to the side—Donghyuck guesses it’s either new or not his, since he’s treating it like a newborn baby. 

Donghyuck explains the job with Rachel, and Jisung blinks, surprised. “You were at Liberty?” 

“Is that the name of it?” 

“That’s literally where I go to school,” Jisung says, smacking his forehead. “Why didn’t Rachel just ask me?” 

“She wanted me to punch a hole into the brick wall to make sure they were properly intimidated,” Donghyuck explains, and Jisung nods, like this makes sense (it shouldn’t, really, but it’s Donghyuck). “Anyway, what are you up to? Homework?” 

“Mostly,” Jisung says. He nods at the computer. “Gotta drop that off.” 

“Courier?” 

“Yup.” 

Donghyuck eyes it. “Looks fancy. Who’s it for?” 

“Nobody in particular,” Jisung says carefully—too carefully, Donghyuck notices. He’s lying—this computer is super important, and so is the person he’s bringing it to. Not that Donghyuck’s _ mad _at him for lying, though. He knows Jisung runs big-time jobs, for big-time people that could land him in jail if he’s not careful. 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, dropping it. “Stay out of trouble, okay? And if you need someone to bail you out—literally whenever—I’ve got your back.” 

Jisung’s cheeks go a little pink. “Thanks,” he says softly. They both glance at the computer again, and curiosity claws at the inside of Donghyuck’s mind, and resists the urge to push. “Okay, I’m outta here.” 

“Take care of yourself,” Jisung says quickly, his tone unusually somber. “Everyone’s worried about you.” 

Donghyuck takes a breath, pausing mid-step. The truth and all his feelings hover on the tip of his tongue, and it would be so easy to let it all out and break down. Jisung would withstand it, Donghyuck knows, would shoulder Donghyuck’s aches and pains without asking. He’d listen—gladly, too—and maybe even awkwardly pat Donghyuck’s back. 

But he doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of him having yet another emotional meltdown. And besides, he’s got homework to do. It’ll have to wait. 

“I’m fine,” Donghyuck lies, easy as breathing. “See ya, Jisung.” 

“Bye, Donghyuck,” Jisung replies. He doesn’t sound like he believes Donghyuck at all.

Even as Donghyuck’s leaving, he can feel Jisung’s worried eyes on the back of his neck. 

There is one good day—he finds out he aced his nutrition quiz, turns all his homework in on time, gets excited because Halloween is on a Friday this year. He and Renjun half-apologize for their argument. He gets high in the evening with Jaemin and wakes up Thursday morning in his aunt and uncle’s apartment, his ribs pain-free. The doctor had even congratulated him on keeping the stitches clean when he’d gotten them removed, which is great—even greater, though, is the feeling of relief as he packs up his belongings, finally free to move back into his dorm. 

He stands at the threshold of his aunt and uncle’s apartment, hopefully for the last time in a while. 

“If you ever want dinner,” his aunt says, crossing her arms, “call ahead, okay?” 

“Sure,” Donghyuck agrees. 

“Do well in school,” his uncle says. “It’s expensive.” 

His aunt purses her lips. Donghyuck still really hates when she does that, but it doesn’t irk him right now, because he’s finally free. “You’re feeling alright?” she asks. 

“_Yes_,” Donghyuck says, itching to go. “Mya taught me how to take care of wounds, you know that.” But his aunt still reaches out to put a gentle hand on his forehead, like she’s checking for a fever. Her hands are cold like always—the pleasant tingle that her fingers leave is reminiscent of the times she’d come into his room and soothe his nightmares away—always of Mya, and usually violent. 

He shakes his head to clear it. “Anyways, um,” he says, so antsy he’s lost his train of thought. “I’m going to school. Bye. Thanks for paying for my antibiotics.” 

“See you soon,” his aunt says. His uncle doesn’t say anything; he just crosses his arms. Donghyuck doesn’t even bother getting upset about that, and takes off down the stairs towards the train stop. 

His roommate is still asleep when he gets back to his dorm before class—everything is just as he’d left it, down to the rumpled blankets on top of his bed. He unloads as quietly as he can, packing up his backpack for the day and setting off towards his philosophy lecture. They wrap up their unit on testing ethics and Heather Dupain—who, by now, the entire class hates not just because she was running illegal experiments on animals, but because the fire she set not only killed her, but other innocents as well—and on to privacy and reality TV. 

After this class, he heads to Jaemin’s house. Normally, he’d meet Mark at the skate park and they’d go find some bad guys to punch, but since Donghyuck’s been _ banned _from that, he’s been forced to adjust his schedule. 

This is where his luck starts to take a turn, and Donghyuck realizes that they weren’t the beginning of his great big break, but rather the calm before the storm. 

Mark is at Jaemin’s house. Of course he is. He’s there to beat Donghyuck at _ Super Smash Bros _and give Donghyuck a warning look when he snaps at Renjun or reaches too quickly for Jaemin’s bong. And most of all, he’s there to remind Donghyuck of his stupid feelings, which makes him feel insecure and silly and jealous all at the same time. It doesn’t take much, these days, to set him off. 

In fact, it can be as simple as: 

“Jaden wants to meet,” Mark says, getting to his feet, squinting at his phone. “So I’m gonna dip, if that’s alright?” 

“No worries,” Jaemin says, giving Mark a thumbs-up. “We’ll see you Friday, right?” 

“Yep,” Mark says. “Stay tuned for pregaming plans, though, because I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”

“No worries,” Jaemin says. “We just gotta finish the rest of my alcohol before the cleaners come again, because they’ll rat me out to my mom, and you know how she feels about drinking.” 

“Got it,” Mark says. He puts his backpack on and waves to the four of them. “See you later.” 

Donghyuck ignores him even as the rest of their friends say goodbye, jealousy curdling in his stomach and clogging his throat. He can feel Mark’s confusion and hurt, but Donghyuck just sets his jaw and doesn’t cave. 

A second later, the door closes, and he’s gone. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Renjun says, “that was really, really shitty, Donghyuck.” 

The final fraying thread of Donghyuck’s patience finally snaps, and he shoots to his feet. All lingering cordial feelings have been snuffed out, and he’s too tired, too worn-out to hold anything back.

“Really, Renjun?” he demands, and Renjun startles at the volume of Donghyuck’s voice. But he’s on the defensive in an instant, crossing his arms. “_Really_?” 

“It was shitty!” Renjun argues. “You’ve been ignoring him on-and-off, and when he gets his feelings hurt, you act like you’re the victim!” 

“Because I _ am_!” Donghyuck shouts. “_He’s _the one being flaky! He’s the one that keeps ditching us for that guy—” 

“_Because Mark likes him!” _ Renjun snaps, and his words hit Donghyuck like a slap in the face. 

He takes a step back, blinking hard against the angry tears that are welling in the corners of his eyes.

“Renjun,” Jaemin says quietly, but Renjun clenches his jaw, shaking his head. He’s never run from the truth, and gives it to people straight-up—something that Donghyuck usually admires him for. Until now, when it’s come to bite him in the ass.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on anyone,” Renjun says, and his expression softens by a touch. “I know you’re afraid of losing Mark—” 

“Don’t you _ dare_,” Donghyuck says, and his voice wavers dangerously. “Don’t go there, dude. Don’t you fucking go there.” 

Renjun looks him dead in the eye anyway. “You’re being a coward.” 

“_Renjun_,” Jaemin says, more forcefully. “Leave him alone.” 

“Why?” Renjun asks, turning to Jaemin. “He’s not being honest with himself, or with Mark, and he’s hurting everyone! Including himself!” He faces Donghyuck. “Talking to him isn’t what is going to push him away, Hyuck,” he continues. “Leaving him _ out _will.” 

Donghyuck holds back a sob. The worst part is, Renjun’s right. He _ is _ a coward, and blocking Mark out is what’s slowly separating them, little by little. If Donghyuck had asked him out all those months ago, in the week following That One Tuesday, maybe they’d be together right now and Jaden wouldn’t even exist. Maybe if he’d _ talked _to Mark last Wednesday as they’d walked to the grocery store, Mark would still be sitting on the couch next to Donghyuck, elbow propped on his shoulder and mouth stretched wide with laughter. 

Renjun is right. Donghyuck knows this. He should just admit it, end the argument, let Renjun win, and then maybe cry on the couch and have Jeno pat his back. 

But instead— 

“_Fuck _you,” Donghyuck snaps. “Seriously. Fuck you, Renjun.” 

Renjun’s expression crumples for half a second, but he pulls himself back together in a heartbeat. “Fine, Donghyuck,” he says, and he just sounds tired now. “Whatever. But don’t expect me to feel bad for you when you get burned, _ again. _The whole broody-victim act isn’t funny anymore. You can’t just punch walls and be violent and expect people to find it cute or pitiful. It’s selfish, and you’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

Ice spreads through Donghyuck all the way down to his fingertips. He looks at Renjun, and for a moment, has the nearly overwhelming urge to punch him in the face. 

Mya’s saying—one of the few things he can still hear in her voice—rings true in his head. _ If you love them, never hit back. _

So he turns on his heel, fists clenched at his sides, and slowly walks up the stairs from Jaemin’s basement, through the foyer, and out the front door. 

The sky is dark, the clouds threatening rain. The wind whips at Donghyuck’s unzipped jacket, going straight through his shirt and into his bones. He doesn’t bother zipping it, though—the chill glances off the numbness that’s frosted over his heart and turned his blood to ice. 

He makes it halfway down the driveway before he hears footsteps. He doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Jaemin. 

“Hyuck!” Jaemin shouts, and Donghyuck slows a little to let him catch up. 

Jaemin is a solid wall of warmth at his side, and he doesn’t say anything, walking close enough that their arms brush. Donghyuck doesn’t realize he’s crying until Jaemin hands him a crumpled paper towel from his pocket, tears sliding soundlessly down his face. 

“He’s just defending Mark,” Jaemin explains quietly, voice barely audible over the wind. “And he’s worried about you. 

“Bull_shit_,” Donghyuck whispers vehemently. “That sucked. There’s no way that’s him being worried about me.” 

“Well, you’re both really stubborn,” Jaemin says. “Neither of you make it easy for each other, y’know.” 

“I miss being a vigilante,” Donghyuck says, looking down at his feet. “I miss doing something _ good, _for once in my life. It’s not just about Mark, you know.” 

Jaemin gives him a measured look. “But it’s a lot about Mark.” 

Donghyuck sighs. He doesn’t have the strength left in him to argue anymore—the fight with Renjun took it out of him. “Jaemin, I’ve never had _ anybody _ like him in my life, _ ever. _He’s just—he makes me feel like—” 

Jaemin waits while Donghyuck tries to untangle the mess inside of his head. 

“Okay, so Mya loved me,” Donghyuck starts, twisting his hands together. “But she only really saw me for what I could _ do—_run twelve miles, master the katana, throw a full-grown man to the ground by the time I was ten.” 

“_Ten_?” Jaemin asks, shaking his head. “Holy _ shit, _Hyuck.” 

Donghyuck offers him a small smile. “She was really proud. She’d tell me, _ you’re gonna be so good when you grow up, nothing’s going to stop you, you’ll be ready when the time comes, your parents would’ve loved this. _ Talking about ‘higher purpose’ and ‘greater meaning’. She never once made me feel _ safe. _ Or _ seen. _ She never looked at me and went, _ gee, Hyuck, why’re you crying? _ or _ hey, it’s alright to be upset about this. _” 

“And Mark does?” 

Donghyuck nods. “He—he _ notices _ things, Jaemin. I tell him things and I can feel him listen. And even when I’m being a complete and total jackass he just rolls with it, and he lets me apologize for all _ kinds _ of stupid shit that nobody else would ever let me get away with.” He takes a slow, deep breath. “I feel like my whole self is there, when I’m with him,” he says. “_Not _just the strength and speed and whatever, or the vigilantism. I feel like—I’m not two-dimensional, when I’m around him. I’m just Donghyuck. And that’s enough for him.” 

Jaemin is silent for a long moment, and Donghyuck wipes his face roughly, blowing his nose into the paper towel. 

“Hyuck,” Jaemin finally says, and puts a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. His eyes are steely, and there’s a solid set to his mouth that tells Donghyuck he, too, is trying not to cry. “We _ all _love you for more than just the speed-strength stuff. I mean, it’s pretty cool that you know, like, eighty-seven kinds of karate or whatever, but that’s not why I’m friends with you.” He puts his other hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “We’re friends with you because you’re funny, because you care about your friends, because you’re protective and stubborn and determined and a hundred other things that make you Donghyuck Lee.” 

Then he pulls Donghyuck into a hug so tight Donghyuck isn’t sure who’s the one with the super-strength, fingers digging into Donghyuck’s back. Donghyuck’s chest heaves, and he feels like his knees are about to give out, but Jaemin holds him tighter. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Jaemin tells him. 

“Mark and Renjun hate me,” Donghyuck whispers. “I’ve lost them both forever.” 

“Renjun’s being a hardass and Jeno’s talking to him,” Jaemin scoffs, pulling back. “He wasn’t fair to you. I mean, you haven’t been a super great friend recently, either.” 

“I know,” Donghyuck admits. “It’s like a massive hole’s been punched in my chest, Jaemin. Being a vigilante—it gave me _ purpose. _ Wearing the chest plates and punching zombie-demons, stopping prison breaks…I felt _ useful. _Not like an impulsive, violent—” 

“Mildly self-destructive,” Jaemin adds unhelpfully. “Don’t forget that.” 

“Okay, fine, mildly self-destructive, too.” He pauses. “Wait, I forgot my point.” 

“You felt useful,” Jaemin prompts. “By the way, where are you going?” 

Donghyuck stops in his tracks and looks around him, trying to figure out where his subconscious had been directing him to. “The train stop,” he says, pointing down the block. “I think I just want to go back to my dorm.” 

“Won’t that piss your aunt and uncle off?” Jaemin asks, and Donghyuck shrugs. 

“I’ve pissed pretty much everyone in my life off, at this point,” he says. “And besides, I already told them I was going back. They didn’t care that much, honestly. I think they’re just glad they don’t have to pay the hospital any more money.” 

Jaemin winces, and throws an arm over Donghyuck’s shoulders. “Here, wait, I’ll call Chenle and Jisung and we’ll go see a movie.” 

“In the theater?” 

“No, on my phone,” Jaemin deadpans, without looking up from his texts. “Yeah, in the theater. Popcorn is good for the soul.” 

“That is one-hundred percent the stoner in you talking,” Donghyuck mutters, and Jaemin laughs. 

“Anyway,” Jaemin says a little while later when they’re headed downtown to meet up with Chenle and Jisung, who both readily agreed to the movie idea, “what if you just…became a vigilante again?” 

“I was literally _ ordered _ not to,” Donghyuck points out. “As in, Twofold _ literally _ came into my room at the _ hospital _and told me to stop.” 

“But what if—now, hear me out—you didn’t?” Jaemin asks, raising an eyebrow. “Donghyuck, dude. When has the law really stopped you before? If it makes you happy, and you’re doing good, then shouldn’t you _ do _it?” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue, but Jaemin holds up a hand. “Let’s not talk about it anymore today,” he says. “Just think about it. And definitely talk to Mark, too. But from the looks of things—” He stops himself here, an unreadable expression crossing his face before it’s replaced by a grim smile. “Well, let’s just say it’s not looking too good. I think the police—and Taeil—are gonna need all the help they can get.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	15. Mark Lee, some fire, and a poorly-timed kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Is it really a mistake,_ Donghyuck thinks, 
> 
> Five hundred bad things happen in a row. Donghyuck only remembers half of them, which is probably a good thing, since the other half are on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is MASSIVE and also part 3 of the Split (as i've started calling it) can you imagine if i tried to fit this with the previous chapter and then the chapter before that? chaos. bad stuff. nonsense. it was silly of me to think that i'd be able to do that. 
> 
> anyways. this is 10k and i'm sorry ahead of time!! but i'm also super happy with how it came out and i hope you guys will like it just as much as i do!! i haven't had this much fun writing a chapter since arsenic all the way back in the beginning!! 
> 
> massive huge thanks 2 all my twitter moots for encouraging me and giving me lots of love. i love you guys back x10000000. also 2 roosa as always. otherwise donghyuck would be putting on and taking off his shirt too many times. 
> 
> please enjoy!!

Against his better judgement, he takes Jaemin’s advice and decides to go to the party. He goes on his first run for a while on Friday afternoon and it hurts, a little—but everything seems to hurt a little these days. It’s worth the clear head, especially after he’d cried through the entire movie, cried through the night and into the morning until he passed out cold and slept through all of his classes. He’d looked like hell when he’d woken up, and it’s still an uphill battle against his puffy face and knotted hair as he gets ready in the evening, buttoning his shirt with chilly, shaky fingers and tucking it into the front of his jeans. It’s not the most elaborate thing he’s worn to a party—blue jeans and the new black button-down he’d bought online from some expensive streetwear brand Jeno likes. The belt is Mark’s, which sucks, but it’s the only one that looks good with his shirt, so he puts it on anyway. Jaemin knows it’s Mark’s belt too when he meets Donghyuck on the sidewalk in front of his dorm, but wisely doesn’t comment. 

“We’re picking Jeno up, too,” Jaemin says. “Chenle and Jisung are coming with Renjun.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t ask about Mark. They both know who _ he’s _coming with, and the thought of it makes Donghyuck want to angry-cry again. 

The good thing about Jaemin—and Jeno—is that they’ve both got the good sense to avoid asking Donghyuck if he’s okay. They can clearly tell that he’s _ not, _that he’s on the verge of another mental breakdown, and the only thing holding him together is that he doesn’t want to cry in public, especially if he’s not drunk.

Jeno has a bottle of Sprite—and vodka, a lot of vodka, Donghyuck discovers, when it burns his throat. 

“Jesus,” he sputters, and Jaemin laughs while Jeno winces apologetically. “That’s, like, vodka spiked with Sprite, not the other way around.” 

“Sorry,” Jeno says. “I was in a hurry. I had to duct-tape my shoe and I was running late.” 

Jaemin looks down at Jeno’s newly-taped Converse. “So ugly,” he says affectionately. “You and Mark with your gross shoes. I will never understand either of your aesthetics.” 

“What, like yours is any better,” Donghyuck scoffs. “You’re literally a rich-kid stoner, Jaemin. You look like an expensive dumpster fire.” 

Jaemin looks down at his loose jeans and his layered t-shirts, both of which cost at least fifty dollars, and shrugs. “At least I cuff my pants,” he says. “And my shoes are clean.” He shakes a very white Nike Airforce in Jeno’s direction. 

They finish Jeno’s disgusting Sprite-Vodka nonsense by the time they get to the house party, which has just reached its peak. Jaemin cackles and lifts his hands for Jeno and Donghyuck to slap. “Hell yeah,” he says. “Timed it perfectly, once again.” He turns to Jeno and Donghyuck. “God, Donghyuck, you look miserable! Let’s get you drunk as fast as possible before you see Mark Lee, and then maybe you can enjoy tonight.” 

“Unlikely,” Donghyuck mutters. “I’m fighting with Renjun too, remember?” 

“Then we’ll just keep you away from both of them,” Jaemin says. “Or, maybe, you and Renjun will apologize tonight. I bet Renjun will cry if you bring it up.” 

“I don’t want him to cry,” Donghyuck says, shuddering at the thought. “That’s the worst thing in the world. It’s so scary. If Renjun’s crying, the world is ending.” 

“Fine. Then no Renjun, no Mark,” Jaemin says. “Jeno, you got that?” 

“Heard loud and clear,” Jeno replies, saluting and losing his balance. “Oh boy. I’m already drunk.” 

“Great!” Jaemin says cheerfully, slinging his arms around Donghyuck and Jeno. “Let’s keep drinking!” 

* * *

Jaemin pulls them both into the house, which is humid and packed with bodies. Music pounds through Donghyuck’s bones, and he nods at a few people he recognizes as he passes them. Jaemin leads them to a table sitting in a doorway, two girls parked behind it. The sign taped to the table reads _ CASH OR VENMO - PAY FOR UNLIMITED BEER (UNTIL WE RUN OUT) OR SHOTS. _There’s a couple drinks listed underneath with prices. 

Two minutes and one Venmo transaction later, Donghyuck has a lukewarm beer in his hand. Fifteen minutes after that, Donghyuck has yet another beer and Jaemin’s arm is around his shoulders as they float from friend group to friend group, losing Jeno in the process. They take a break for a little bit to dance to some top-40s pop song, and then Jaemin spots Jisung with some random girl _ much _ too old for him, so they rescue him and task him with finding Chenle, who’s learning how to play beer pong. But before Donghyuck can go and tell Chenle to stop playing drinking games, Jaemin finally realizes that they’ve lost Jeno, and demands that Donghyuck comes with him to find him. Donghyuck hasn’t seen Renjun or Mark yet, and it’s easy to ignore the guilt, frustration and lingering anger that pushes at his chest. He laughs and pretends like it’s all fine and easy, like he’s just like all the rest of the kids here, his problems easy and simple. One plus one is two, Mark Lee loves him back, and saying _ I’m really, really sorry _fixes everything. No Taeil. No fight with Renjun, no awkwardness with Mark. No super-strength to manage, no bad guys to fight, no zombie-demons, no—

“Jeno,” Jaemin says. “Where is he?” 

Donghyuck pulls himself out of his thoughts and decides he needs more to drink. “Can I have the rest of your beer,” he asks, tugging on Jaemin’s sleeve. 

“It’s a limearita,” Jaemin warns, handing it to Donghyuck. “You don’t like those.” 

“It’s because they’re not beer _ or _margarita,” Donghyuck says. “They’re an abomination and my hangover is gonna be terrible.” He takes a sip anyway. It’s lukewarm, and it leaves a strange taste on his tongue, but it’s better than sobering up.

They eventually find Jeno, leaning against a wall as a bunch of bemused-looking girls watch him describe something, gesturing wildly. He almost hits himself with a particularly emphatic one, and Jaemin snorts, his face doing a weird thing that Donghyuck hasn’t seen before.

Donghyuck stares at him for a long moment. “Jaemin,” he says slowly, a realization trickling through the drunken fog around his brain like molasses. 

“What,” Jaemin says, turning back and narrowing his eyes. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.” 

“Looking at _ you,_” Donghyuck says, crossing his arms. “Uh-huh. How about the way you were looking at—” 

“Jaemin!” Jeno shouts abruptly. “Yo, dude, come here! I was just talking about when we met Jisung, and how you threatened him with the olive oil—” 

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Jaemin says, detaching from Donghyuck to join him. “That was the making of a true friendship,” he sighs, and Donghyuck can tell that he’s being honest. 

“God, you guys are so weird,” one of the girls says, but she’s smiling at Jeno. Donghyuck catches Jeno’s eye over her shoulder and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Jeno’s mouth quirks slightly, and he shrugs. 

“You’re Jaemin, then? The best friend?” Another girl asks. 

“That’s right,” Jaemin says, draping an arm around Jeno, pulling him close. “We met in high school. Not as exciting as the olive-oil incident, but still pretty funny.” He digs his chin into Jeno’s shoulder and grins at him. “Remember, Donghyuck?” 

“Yeah, I remember,” Donghyuck says, barely holding back laughter as Jeno struggles to extricate himself from Jaemin’s grip, looking embarrassed. “Jeno tried out for the basketball team—” 

“Which I was on,” Jaemin interjects, still grinning widely.

“Please, please, not this story,” Jeno begs, but the girls just laugh at him and gesture for Donghyuck to continue. 

“But he’s running late,” Donghyuck says, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. “He’s rushing towards the locker room. But when he opens the door—at a run, with all his strength—there’s someone standing on the other side, trying to open it as well.” 

“It was me,” Jaemin says gleefully. “Jeno slammed the door open so hard that it broke my nose. We became friends in the nurse’s office after he let me bleed all over him.” The girls are laughing now, and Jaemin’s smile grows. 

Jeno looks like he wants the floor to open up beneath him, but there’s also a small smile on his face. He’s not mad, Donghyuck knows, which is why he’s let Jaemin get away with telling the story. 

“It was very sweet of him,” Jaemin informs the girls, and turns to stick his face in Jeno’s personal space, which Donghyuck knows he hates, and makes a truly awful cooing noise. 

But instead of reeling back, Jeno grins, his eyes crinkling. “Only because you were cute, even with the black eye,” Jeno informs him. 

Jaemin freezes, his eyes going wide. Whatever he was expecting Jeno to do, it clearly wasn’t _ that _. He opens his mouth to retort, but no sound comes out, and it takes all of Donghyuck’s willpower to not immediately burst into laughter. Jeno’s expression grows smug, and he extracts himself from Jaemin’s grip easily. 

“I’m going to get another beer,” Jeno tells them both. He pats Jaemin gently on the shoulder. “See you later,” he says cheekily, and turns to the girls. “Wanna grab another drink?” 

Jaemin’s face is bright red, and not just from the alcohol. As soon as Jeno is out of sight, Donghyuck finally starts laughing, sides aching. It’s all fun and games for Jaemin Na until somebody flirts back. 

“What,” Jaemin says, blinking a few times. “Did you just see that? Was that just a dream?” 

“Jeno the confident drunk,” Donghyuck wheezes, nearly doubled over. “Jaemin, dude, you should’ve seen your _ face_.” 

Jaemin shakes his head, his smile both proud and disbelieving. “He got me,” he says, awed. “Holy shit. I didn’t—I literally did not know how to react.” 

“I know,” Donghyuck says, taking a deep breath and reveling in the weight that’s been temporarily lifted off him. “Oh, man. I needed that.” 

Jaemin puts an arm around Donghyuck’s shoulders, squeezing affectionately. For a minute, they stand there, soaking it all in. Donghyuck finishes the limearita; he has no idea how much he’s had to drink, or what time it is. To the former, he’s guessing _ a lot _—enough that the world takes a couple long seconds to catch up every time he moves his head. He feels floaty, but not detached from himself, not yet. To the latter, he thinks it’s still pretty early, since the party is in full swing, the house packed with people. 

“Okay, but in all seriousness,” Donghyuck starts, and Jaemin turns, eyebrows raised. “You should go easy on him.” 

“Who?” Jaemin shouts, leaning closer. 

“Jeno, I mean,” Donghyuck replies. “He’ll be halfway in love with you by the time we get to winter break.” 

“Only if you go easy on Mark,” Jaemin says, putting a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder and turning him so he can see the boy in question, wearing his stupid hat backwards _ again _ and leaning against the wall with a beer, looking super hot and smiling at… _ Jaden _. 

The lingering weightlessness vanishes, and Donghyuck’s mood darkens by a touch. He takes it all back. He doesn’t look hot or beautiful or anything. He looks dumb, and Donghyuck hates that smile on his face. He wants Jaden to get tired or get bored after he realizes how lame Mark’s jokes are, get annoyed with how easily he forgives, how he never really shouts, even when he’s mad—

_ God, _Donghyuck loves him. Even when he’s smiling at somebody else. 

“See,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck wants to punch the stupid smirk off his face. “You’re hopeless. So you keep pining after _ your _best friend, and I’ll keep messing with mine.” He pats Donghyuck on the cheek—a little too hard, because he’s drunk—and wobbles away to go talk to somebody else. 

He’s only alone for a second before Jeno comes up behind him, grabbing his shoulders and steering him towards the kitchen. The girls are nowhere in sight, thankfully. Donghyuck doesn’t want to glower at the wrong person by accident. “Shots? Shots? Shots?” Jeno calls, pointing at Chenle and Jisung, who are wrapping up a drinking game.

Donghyuck gives Mark one last glare and then turns to Jeno. “Shots,” he agrees, and they all crowd into the kitchen, where Jeno procures a bottle of vodka and Chenle rinses a few shot glasses out in the sink. 

“Cheers,” Chenle says, raising his glass. “To going to college parties as a high schooler!” 

“Jisung, don’t drink that,” Donghyuck says, perfunctory. “You’re underage.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Jisung replies, and they all take the shot. Chenle teleports a few inches sideways, and Jisung has to grab him by the back of the shirt to stop him from doing it again. 

“Dude, you’ll blow their cover!” Jisung shouts into his face. Chenle claps both hands over his ears and squints at Jisung. 

“WHO?” he asks, and Jisung points at Donghyuck, and then into the crowd at Mark, who fortunately is no longer talking to Jaden. Unfortunately, he’s making his way over here, and Donghyuck, unlike Chenle, cannot teleport. He’s drunk and he’s trapped and Mark is _ walking over here, _ wearing his blue hoodie and his beat-up jacket with the super glue on the sleeve. His hat is still backwards, and when he turns his smile onto the four of them, Donghyuck almost passes out. 

Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it’s getting increasingly hard to tell. He’s not quite toeing the line between remembering and forgetting, but it’s well in view. It would be easy to turn back now, he thinks. He could call it a night, say _ bye-bye, Mark Lee _ and slink back home. Maybe he’d even get some falafel. Or some fried rice. Or a cigarette. Jesus _ Christ, _he could go for a cigarette right now, with the way Mark is making his anxiety spike. 

“Hi, guys,” Mark says. He’s holding a new beer, and there’s a flush sitting high on his cheeks. “How’s it going?” 

“I thought the government was after you,” Jisung half-shouts at Mark. “Right?” 

“No, that’s just Taeil,” Mark explains, laughing good-naturedly. “And he’s not after us. I think he just wants to make sure we’re safe.” 

“Doesn’t want us to solve the mystery and steal his thunder, more like,” Donghyuck mutters darkly, crossing his arms. Luckily it’s too loud for Mark to hear him, but Chenle does. He gives Donghyuck an exasperated look, but pats him on the back and teleports a few more inches to the right. 

“Nuh-uh, shadow boy,” Jisung mumbles, grabbing Chenle’s shirt again. “No more teleporting or you’ll get sent to the testing centers.” 

“No testing centers,” Jeno says, gesturing with his empty shot glass and whacking Mark in the head. Or he would’ve, except Mark dodges neatly, reflexively, with an ease that should not be attractive _ or _hot. But Donghyuck is drunk and in love, so it’s both of those things, and the amount of emotional distress he’s in increases by ten. Renjun just needs to show up now, and that’d be the icing on the cake, really. 

“Oh, look, there’s Renjun,” Mark says, standing on his tiptoes and waving. 

_ That’s it, _ Donghyuck thinks miserably. _ The universe really _ does _ hate me. _

Renjun comes over. He’s drunk, too, and friendly with everyone except for Donghyuck. He doesn’t even try to hide it—just straight-up ignores him, and it’s so upsetting that Donghyuck has to pour himself another shot. 

“Whoa, hey,” Jeno says, reaching for it. But Donghyuck is faster—has always been faster, much to everyone’s general displeasure—and slams back the vodka before Jeno can grab it. 

Renjun meets his eyes from across the counter, and his words ring through Donghyuck’s head, startlingly clear. _ The whole broody-victim act isn’t funny anymore, _he’d said. 

And it’s true. Nobody’s laughing. Instead, they’re all looking at him with expressions ranging from worried (Jeno) to knowing (Renjun, whose whole face is saying _ what did I tell you? _). Chenle and Jisung, who currently seem to be sharing half a brain cell, look between the rest of them with dumbfounded expressions. 

“Oh my god, enough,” Donghyuck says, throwing up his hands. “Don’t look at me like that!” 

“Wasn’t looking at you,” Jisung replies, frowning. “I was looking at Renjun.” 

Renjun sets his jaw and crosses his arms. “I wasn’t looking at you either.” 

“Yes you were,” Donghyuck replies, crossing his arms also. 

“Guys,” Chenle whines. “C’mon.” 

“What’s happening?” Mark asks, looking back and forth from Renjun to Donghyuck like he’s watching a tennis match. “Did you guys have a fight?” 

“No,” Donghyuck says, gritting his teeth. 

“No,” Renjun agrees, narrowing his eyes. 

Mark looks at Jeno, who raises his hands helplessly. “Yeah,” Jeno admits, and Donghyuck slams his hands on the counter—something cracks under his palms—and storms off. 

He gets another beer. It’s possibly the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, besides earlier this week when he chain-smoked the rest of the cigarettes he’d bought last Tuesday. Or over the weekend, when he told his uncle to fuck off. Or before that—

There’s a hand on his shoulder. Luckily it’s not Mark, or Donghyuck would have done something to put all his other bad decisions to shame. 

“Hyuck,” Jeno says. 

“Jeno,” Donghyuck replies, and raises the beer to his lips. He takes a long, long sip, and Jeno waits. “Mark Lee doesn’t love me back,” he says when he lowers the can. 

The realization is not a new one, but it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. Jeno seems surprised to hear it, frowning a little. 

“You know that’s not true—” Jeno starts, but Donghyuck holds up a hand. Jeno falls quiet. 

“Not in the way that I love him,” he continues. “Not in the way that I want him to. Maybe he just—can’t.” 

Jeno groans and rubs a hand over his face. “Donghyuck, you really, really, _ really _need to talk to him.” 

“Oh, I know,” Donghyuck says, nodding emphatically. “Believe me.” 

“So then—” 

“Because talking to him means confessing, and that means losing what we have forever,” Donghyuck says.

Jeno sighs. “Listen to me. Of _ course _you confessing is gonna change stuff. That’s why it’s called a confession, dude.” 

“Maybe it’s a love Mark _ shouldn’t _know how to give, anyway—” 

“Will you please stop being overdramatic for half a second and let me finish,” Jeno interrupts, but he’s not angry. Donghyuck snaps his mouth shut guiltily. 

“I’m just saying,” Jeno continues, “that you guys should talk. Maybe it’s time for you to start to move on. Y’know. Confess, reevaluate. And then maybe go see a therapist. I can recommend you mine. She’s great.” 

“You see a therapist?” Donghyuck asks, and Jeno gives him a patient look. “Right,” he remembers, shaking his head. “That’s not the point. The point is… that you have a point.” 

They both have to stop and think about that. Eventually, Donghyuck decides it makes enough sense and nods. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but Jeno shakes his head. 

“You gotta promise,” Jeno says. “Please.” 

“I hate when you guys say please,” Donghyuck mumbles. “God, Jeno, fine. I promise. I’ll talk to him.” 

Jeno breathes out, tension easing from his shoulders. “Thank you.” 

“On one condition,” Donghyuck says. “I get another shot.” 

* * *

Bad choices make him more drunk, which cause him to make more bad choices, and thus, the cycle repeats itself. 

His conversation with Jeno is one of the last intact memories he has of the night. He takes that extra shot and finishes that beer, and everything starts to fray from there, unraveling like the hem of an old t-shirt. 

First, there’s Renjun. Words don’t make sense, and Donghyuck’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He’s too drunk to do anything but cry into Renjun’s shoulders, and then there’s a set of arms around him, and another set of arms—too many people, like a giant, warm, sweaty octopus that accidentally teleports them a couple feet, which knocks Donghyuck off-balance—

* * *

—but miraculously, he lands on his feet. Everyone is shouting gleefully, impressed, and Donghyuck’s hands only sting a little. His face hurts from smiling. He feels untouchable, unstoppable, and Mark is beaming at him like he knows—

* * *

  
  


“What?” Donghyuck asks. There’s another can in his hand but it’s just root beer, to his displeasure, flat and lukewarm. Mark looks at him, and something burns in his eyes, taking Donghyuck aback. They’re in a room, and it’s quiet. The lights are out.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck is about to ask _ how, _exactly he looks at Mark, but the scene around him collapses, washed away by— 

* * *

—a mouth. 

* * *

_ Oh no. _

* * *

Donghyuck wakes to a concerning number of unfamiliar sensations: a pounding, aggressive headache, an empty, aching stomach, and warmth at his side, over his waist, making him sweat under the heavy blankets of the bed. 

He pries his eyes open slowly, the light streaming through the windows making him wince. He’s in Mark’s room, somehow, even though Donghyuck doesn’t remember how he got here. 

The person next to him shifts, stirs, and Donghyuck lifts his head just in time to watch Mark Lee wake up and realize how closely they’re pressed together. 

“Oh, _ fuck, _ ” Mark says, startling. Donghyuck startles too, and they run headlong into each other, foreheads cracking together. Nauseating pain jolts through Donghyuck’s body, his stomach rolling as he flops face-first into the bed, taking deep breaths through his nose. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hungover in his life. It’s Mark’s fault, he rationalizes. This is the first time he’s been _ this _ hungover, and the first time he’s woken up next to his best friend, tangled up together like the opening scene to a _ rom-com _ , missing a whole bunch of _ very important memories. _ If Mark wasn’t so easy to fall in love with, then _ maybe _ they wouldn’t _ be _in this situation in the first place. 

Donghyuck takes another breath, and when he’s sure he’s not going to vomit, he kicks Mark in the knee under the covers. 

“Ow,” Mark says, voice gravelly. He looks straight-up _ terrible, _ his lips chapped and his hair messy. 

“You look awful,” Donghyuck says aloud. “Like something that’s crawled out of a sewer. Or like you’ve just been raised from the dead. Or like one of the zombie-demons.” 

“You’ve _ seen _me raised from the dead,” Mark points out. “I’m pretty sure I looked worse.” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to tease back, and then realizes there are other things they need to sort out. Like all the alcohol amnesia. Or where their friends went. Or, even better, _ why they’re in the same bed. _

_ These are all very good and rational questions_, Donghyuck thinks. _ No need to panic. We probably just got in here really drunk and passed out cold. _ He pauses while Mark attempts to pat down his bedhead. _ Did we talk? _ he wonders, tilting his head and squinting at Mark’s face, trying to tell if he’s embarrassed or awkward. _ I don’t remember if we did. _

“Oof,” Mark says, pulling at his shirt collar and stretching his arms above his head. “Thank god for speed-healing.” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to reply, but unfortunately, the very large and non-rational part of him has laser-focused on the suspiciously-placed bruise just above Mark’s collarbone.

Before he can help himself, he blurts, “Is that a hickey?” 

Mark goes bright pink and claps a hand over the spot where Donghyuck’s looking. “No!” 

Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “That sounds like a question.” 

“It’s not,” Mark insists. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“…probably,” Mark amends, face still red. “I don’t actually…remember. Do you?” He gives Donghyuck a side-eyed look, almost like he’s afraid of what Donghyuck is going to say. 

“No,” Donghyuck answers, and Mark deflates a little in relief. “But weren’t you with J—I mean, do you think—the hickey—?” God, this isn’t going to work. Donghyuck is sure his face is as red as Mark’s by now, and they’re both slowly edging away from each other, though it’s hard not to be touching in a bed this small. 

“I—” Mark starts, and stops. His ears are practically glowing pink, and he can’t make eye contact with Donghyuck. 

_ It’s nothing, it’s nothing, _ Donghyuck chants to himself, even though it’s most definitely _ not _ nothing, just like it’s _ not _ a coincidence that they’ve woken up in the same bed after nearly two weeks of bad communication and emotional meltdowns.

“Do you think, we, um—?” Mark asks, scratching the back of his neck. 

“I was really drunk,” Donghyuck says. That much he can remember. “So if I—we, I mean—then I just want you to know that, um. You know.” 

“Yeah,” Mark says, even though there’s _ no way _that sentence made any sense at all. 

God, at this rate, they’re both going to die of awkwardness before they can even solve the whole zombie-demon thing.

“We really should talk about this,” Mark says, taking his hand off the hickey. It’s very obvious, taunting Donghyuck and reminding him of everything he’d set fire to in the course of one night and a supposed make-out session—just thinking about it lights his brain on fire—that he doesn’t even remember. “Because the last thing I remember you saying was—” He cuts himself off again, muscles tensing as his head whips around to the door. 

Donghyuck knows that look by now, and he only has a second to put a plan together. 

“Hyuck?” Jeno’s voice comes from outside, and Donghyuck reacts before he can really think things through—his mind goes _ HIDE MARK _and he does exactly that, shoving Mark bodily off the bed and onto the ground, out of sight. 

“Hyuck—” Mark hisses, probably in pain, but there’s no time because the door is opening and Jeno is peering in, looking a little worse for the wear. 

“Oh, there you are,” Jeno says. “Are you alright? I heard a thud.” 

“It was nothing,” Donghyuck says, forcing his breathing to remain even. “It was just…a pigeon. Flying into the window.” 

Jeno’s forehead wrinkles. “A—” 

“Have you seen Mark, by any chance?” Donghyuck asks, changing the subject before Jeno can pick apart his lies. “I was, uh. I need to…talk to him.” 

“I don’t know where he is,” Jeno says. “That’s why I was coming to ask you. Last time I saw him, you guys were going into this room.” Jeno gives Donghyuck a long, even look that has Donghyuck’s face heating again. 

“Just to, um, clarify,” Donghyuck says slowly, decisively not meeting Jeno’s eyes, “what did it _ look _like we were going to do?” 

Jeno stares at him, stupefied. “You don’t remember?” 

“I didn’t say that!” Donghyuck protests immediately, furious. “I just wanted to clear the air. Because whatever you _ thought _we were going to do…we didn’t.” 

“You guys didn’t talk?” Jeno says, looking more and more confused with each passing second. “Hyuck, c’mon, you _ promised _you would. Are you telling me we had that whole conversation about reevaluating—” 

Okay, _ that _ Donghyuck remembers. The stunning, awful realization that maybe the reason Mark couldn’t ever love him back was because it wasn’t a love he knew how to give. That he _ shouldn’t _ know how to give. Jeno telling Donghyuck that maybe he should just confess, move on, and then go see a therapist. He remembers crying into Renjun’s shirt, then crying into Jeno’s shirt, and then _ Chenle _was crying, and then there were more shots, and that is the end of Donghyuck’s memory. 

“—so then you’re telling me you guys hooked up?” Jeno finishes.

“NO!” Donghyuck shouts, having missed out on the first half of what Jeno said but disagreeing anyway. “No, we didn’t hook up, no, nothing happened—” 

“You didn’t tell him you l—” 

“No, I didn’t,” Donghyuck interrupts, fuming. “And I don’t know where he is, and I’ve got a massive hangover, and I’m _ this close _to tossing the bed out the window, my head hurts so bad.” Something inside of him collapses at the sympathetic look that crosses Jeno’s face, and he sets his head in his hands. Behind him, he can hear Mark shift, clearly uncomfortable with how this is playing out. But he stays hidden, thankfully, even as Jeno says, “it’ll be okay, Hyuck. You’ll figure something out. It’s Mark, after all.” 

“Thanks,” Donghyuck mumbles into his hands. “I’m sorry for snapping.” 

“It’s okay,” Jeno says easily. “I’ll be in the kitchen. None of us can really cook, but we’re making eggs if you want some.” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, still not looking up. He hears the door shut softly, and then there’s the sound of the bed creaking as Mark hauls himself off the floor and back onto the mattress. There’s a hand on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and the familiarity of the touch relaxes him, tension bleeding out of his muscles. 

Mark doesn’t say anything for a little bit, just sits there with his hand on Donghyuck’s back, grounding him, and Donghyuck pretends like everything hasn’t changed. 

But the real world is calling, and he’s got to face the music at some point. So eventually, he lifts his head from his hands, turning so he’s facing his best friend. Their knees brush, and Donghyuck wants to kiss him again, good and hard, so he’ll remember it. So they’ll _ both _ remember it. But he can’t do that—he’s got to break both of their hearts instead, once and for all.

Donghyuck takes a deep breath. Mark looks at him expectantly, tousled and hungover, and god, does Donghyuck love him. 

“I’ll get to the point,” he says, and his hands start to shake a little. “Mark, I—” 

Unfortunately, the window shatters inward at that exact moment. 

“Well,” Donghyuck says, watching with dissatisfaction as a few blank-faced, black-eyed people come tumbling into the room, lunging for the two of them. “I’ll tell you later.” 

There’s something akin to relief on Mark’s face, as though he knew what Donghyuck was going to say and is glad he didn’t. Donghyuck chides himself for making stupid assumptions and thinks it’s _ really _because Mark doesn’t like emotional confrontation. Fighting, on the other hand—this they can do. Throw some bad guys around, shed some blood, shout quips back and forth even as Donghyuck buries knives into shoulders or bullets into legs.

For a brief second, Donghyuck wishes for _ more. _And then the swarm of possessed is on him.

* * *

After weeks of waiting, of sitting on his hands, the first face Donghyuck punches feels like victory. The hangover symptoms ebb away as adrenaline jolts through his system, revitalizing them. 

“Take _ that,_” he shouts, hitting another in the throat, sending her tumbling out the broken window. 

“Hey, watch it,” Mark warns, even as he swings his lamp into the third’s head. “We don’t wanna kill them. They’re people too.” 

“Right, sorry,” Donghyuck says. 

“What the actual _ fuck _ are you—oh my god, are those _ zombie-demons_?” Jeno says from behind them. They turn at the same time, and Donghyuck realizes that he’s not wearing a shirt. Mark goes to cover the hickey on his neck, only his hands are covered in black blood, which immediately gets all over him. 

“What’s going on in there?” Renjun calls from the kitchen. “Is Mark there? Are they alive?” 

A second later, he appears in the doorway, eggs in hand. He takes one look at the mess they’ve made of Mark’s bedroom: two unconscious zombie-demons on the ground, their skin flaky-grey and their noses leaking black blood. Plus one totally shattered window, and Donghyuck and Mark, standing in various states of undress. “Jeez,” Renjun sighs, putting his fork down on his plate. “Jaemin, call the police,” he shouts behind him. “Oh, wait, you’re right there.” 

Jaemin joins them in Mark’s bedroom. He only looks a little surprised to see the mess—instead, he looks between Donghyuck and Mark and raises his eyebrows in question. 

“No,” Donghyuck tells him outright, crossing his arms. “Stop it.” 

Jisung’s head appears over Jeno’s shoulder. “Stop what? Whoa, wait, Donghyuck, since when do you have a six-pack?” 

“Can we please just call the police,” Renjun says tiredly. “I want to eat my eggs. I’m too hungover for this right now. Jaemin?” 

Jaemin squints at his phone. “Chenle’s in trouble.” 

“Chenle _ just _left,” Jeno says, leaning over. Jaemin startles at his proximity and about drops his phone, and it’s Donghyuck’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “How’s he already in trouble?”

Jaemin stops glaring at Donghyuck and refocuses. “Apparently, this wasn’t the only place that was attacked,” he says. “There’s a bunch of zombie-demons a couple blocks north, too. Chenle got trapped at the police barricade.” 

“How did those three escape?” Renjun frowns, nudging one with his foot. “And why did they attack _ here, _of all places?” 

“Those things like me,” Donghyuck says. “I see them all the time. Not as much, recently, but still often.” 

“They attack you?” Mark asks, starting to look concerned, but Donghyuck shakes his head. 

“Not usually,” Donghyuck assures him. “The police grab them most of the time, or I get the jump on them and punch them really hard.” 

Renjun’s frown deepens. “Are you sure they’re following _ you? _Why would that even make sense?” 

Donghyuck shrugs, trying not to let Renjun’s disbelief rub the wrong way. They both still need to apologize for their fight. “Beats me. It’s probably just a coincidence, honestly. Call it narrator’s bias, gut instinct, whatever.” 

There’s a knock at the door that abruptly ends their conversation. Jaemin leaves the room to go see who it is, Renjun trailing after him. Jisung and Donghyuck work to lower the rest of the zombie-demons—their blood now red, thankfully—out the window, laying them gently on the fire escape. Hopefully they don’t roll off before they wake up. Mark goes to clean the blood off his neck, and Donghyuck is both relieved (and maybe a little disappointed) to see that his hickey’s vanished along with the obvious signs of his hangover. Well, at least none of their friends will know, now. 

“Guys, it’s Chenle,” Jeno says from the doorway, sticking his head into the living room. “He looks shaken-up.” 

Donghyuck exchanges a look with Mark as they filter out into the living room to hear Chenle’s story. 

“—there were at least twenty of them, plus three more of those giant things that nearly killed Donghyuck at the prison,” Chenle is saying, out-of-breath. “The police called for backup, but there’s also a flame dude—” 

“A _ flame dude?_” Donghyuck asks, interest piquing. 

“He shoots flames from his hands,” Chenle says, imitating. “He, uh, is causing a lot of problems. It makes it hard for the police to concentrate on controlling the zombie-demons.” 

“Is Twofold there?” Jeno asks. 

Chenle nods. “Yeah, but he’s just shielding and stuff. He looked tired, too—I think he was up all night making sure nothing bad happened.” An uneasy expression crosses Chenle’s face. “Something’s wrong with this city, guys. Like, seriously wrong.” 

Tense silence falls over the seven of them. Donghyuck can practically hear the gears working in his friends’ heads, so he just says what they’re all thinking aloud: “We gotta go help.” 

“Donghyuck,” Jeno starts, but Donghyuck holds up a hand. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” he insists. “Like, it’s not just because I’m itching to fight—” 

“Though that’s definitely a factor,” Jisung chimes in, “knowing you.” 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Donghyuck acknowledges. “But from the looks of it, shit’s _ bad. _ A guy with flame abilities _ plus _ zombie-demons _ plus _the upgraded mega-monster ones that get shot up with the zombie goo or whatever and rampage around. Twofold’s only one guy.” He looks over at Renjun for the first time all morning, meeting his eyes evenly. “I don’t want to run away from this,” he says clearly, with as much conviction as he can muster. Renjun’s face is unreadable, but at least he’s not yelling. “I want to do the right thing.” 

Renjun lets out a long, tired sigh. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll go.” 

“_Yes,_” Donghyuck says, excitement making his fingertips tingle. “Oh my god, I’ve missed this so much.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Renjun warns. “You may not be hurt anymore, but you’re still banned.” 

“Mark is too,” Jisung adds unhelpfully. “They’re both banned.” 

Mark holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not the one going stir-crazy because of it, though,” he says. 

“You were going a little crazy,” Jeno says, crossing his arms. “But just a little.” 

“Okay, guys, if we’re gonna do this, we gotta get a move-on,” Jaemin says, waving his hands at them. “Mark and Donghyuck, I’m thinking you get this flame-dude off the cops. We can camp out somewhere and help coordinate—Jeno can use his sniper rifle—” 

“I don’t have a sniper rifle?” Jeno says, frowning. 

Jaemin frowns also. “Yeah, you’re right,” he confirms. “In my dream you did, though, which was pretty cool.” 

“That’s great, Jaemin, but we’re sorta running on a tight schedule, as you pointed out,” Renjun says. He puts his plate of half-finished eggs on the table. “Go get ready, you two.” 

“I don’t have my chest plate anymore,” Donghyuck points out. “It got wrecked when we fought at the prison.” 

“Use mine,” Mark says immediately. 

“No,” Donghyuck rebukes. “I’m the fighter. I’m less likely to get hurt than you are.” 

“I literally _ can’t die,_” Mark reminds him, and goddamn, he’s got a point. A really good one, at that. “It’ll make me feel better if you wear it.” 

“Fine,” Donghyuck says. “I’ll wear it. But you have to be extra careful, okay?” 

“Since when do you care about Mark’s physical wellbeing?” Jaemin snorts. “You’ve always tossed him around like a ragdoll.” 

Donghyuck sniffs, annoyed. “I’ve reevaluated.” 

“Uh-huh,” Jaemin says. “Care to explain what _ that _means, exactly?” 

Mark and Donghyuck make eye contact for half a second before Donghyuck’s face gets hot. Jaemin and Jisung start laughing, and even Jeno cracks a smile. 

“_Go_, you guys, for _ fuck’s _sake,” Renjun says, exasperated. “Donghyuck, here are your clothes.” He dumps a pile of clothing into Donghyuck’s arms. 

“When did I take these off?” Donghyuck asks, looking down at his bare chest and his sweatpants. Well, not technically _ his _sweatpants—they’re Mark’s—and pokes at the dark spots in his memory. 

Renjun shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he says. “Now go get ready.” 

* * *

Getting ready is like falling back into a routine—one Donghyuck has missed dearly. Mark washes his face and shaves and talks about plans of attack while Donghyuck digs through his closet for something to wear, since he’s not about to show up to a fight wearing a _ button-down. _Jaemin updates them on the worsening situation—they’ve closed off the streets, evacuated buildings, and called in reinforcements. Numbers estimate close to twenty zombie-demons (the police call them infected, which is very scary and dystopian). Twofold is doing his best to keep everyone shielded, but that means he’s not doing a lot of fighting. 

Donghyuck buttons his pants and looks over at Mark’s bed. How they got in there—and why they were in there together—isn’t as worrying as what might’ve happened _ before. _He remembers bits and pieces, snapshots of a very backwards night. He remembers cheering, his palms stinging, and he remembers the crying, which is humiliating. He remembers shoving at Mark, and then a mouth on his—

Donghyuck smacks himself on the cheek a few times. It stings, but it clears his head a little bit. 

_ Watch the super-strength, _he tells himself dryly. Mark comes out of the bathroom, clean-faced, and hesitates. There’s a commotion in the living room—Jaemin convincing Chenle that he should help Twofold, Jeno going through their coat closet for any spare weapons, Renjun telling Jisung to stop eating his eggs. 

“What,” Donghyuck says, crossing his arms self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Mark blinks. “No,” he says. “I just—” 

“Are you guys done in there?” Jisung shouts. 

“Just a sec!” Mark yells back. He turns to his closet and pulls out two hoodies, one of which he offers to Donghyuck. “It’s cold out there,” he says. “And you always complain.” 

Donghyuck takes it and opens his mouth to thank Mark, but he’s back to his closet, rummaging around again. “This too,” he says, holding up a tangle of straps, a knife sheath dangling from one end. “You left it when you napped here a week ago.” 

“My safety knife!” Donghyuck says excitedly. He’d thought he’d misplaced it, lost it at his aunt and uncle’s house or buried it somewhere in his dorm room. The harness had been made by Mya—one of the only physical reminders Donghyuck has of her, the only thing his aunt hadn’t confiscated from his old life—and the relief that floods through him at the sight of it makes his eyes prick. “Thank you,” he says quietly. He adjusts it so it fits over the hoodie Mark loaned him, sliding the knife out of the sheath to make sure it’s not dirty or dull. 

“I was waiting for a good time to give it back to you,” Mark says, voice muffled as he puts his hoodie on. A second later, his head pops out, hair mussed and cheeks pink. “But all the conversations we had, um, weren’t ending super well.” 

Guilt dims some of the excitement and relief. “I’m sorry,” Donghyuck says, and means it. 

Mark bites his lip. “It’s alright,” he says. “Really. But we still should talk later, okay? After all of this is over?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck agrees. “About all of this.” He glances at the bed again, and Mark follows his gaze, ears pinking. 

Jeno sticks his head in the room, holding the black face masks Jisung delivered to them weeks ago. “Ready to head out?” he asks. 

Mark grabs a hat from his closet, and Donghyuck puts his hood up, catching the mask Jeno throws his way. 

“Ready,” he confirms, and they meet the rest of their friends in the living room. Donghyuck puts on Mark’s chestplate, the armor clicking as it expands across his chest and around his ribs. The knife goes over it, and its presence is familiar and comforting. Mark pulls a baseball bat from the closet as well, and at Donghyuck’s confused look, he shrugs. “I can’t punch as hard as you,” he says. 

Jeno runs them through the plan. The majority of them will head up towards the zombie-demons to help where they can. Jeno, somehow, got access to the CCTV cameras on street corners—probably thanks to a bit of meddling on Jisung’s end—so Jaemin and Renjun will monitor those and keep Mark and Donghyuck updated while they lure the flame dude away from the whole zombie-demon scene. 

“Sounds good,” Donghyuck says, clapping his hands together. “I’m ready.” 

All of his friends give him looks of varying affection and exasperation. “We know,” Jeno says. 

“I’m honestly surprised he didn’t just ignore Taeil,” Chenle muses, looking impressed. “Good job, Hyuck.” 

“Thanks,” Donghyuck says. “Honestly, I would’ve disobeyed any time now. Jaemin’s an enabler.” 

“We’re aware,” Renjun says dryly, and Jaemin grins proudly.

Nervousness mingles with excitement, making Donghyuck feel sweaty and freezing at the same time. He drums his fingers against his arms as they make their way down the hallway and stairs, emerging onto the street. It’s early in the afternoon, the sunlight weak and watery through the dark clouds that roll in slowly from the distance. The sidewalk is unusually quiet—but the whole city’s been quiet for a while now, because something dark and threatening has been stirring for a bit, now. Donghyuck just wishes he knew _ what. _

“This way,” Chenle says, gesturing, and they head down the sidewalk. 

Donghyuck both hears and smells the commotion before he sees it. Gasoline and burning plastic accompanied by thick, noxious smoke, sirens cutting through the air. Gunfire, the occasional snarl, and the sound of things crunching and breaking. Donghyuck hopes it’s cars making the noise, not people. A wave of heat rolls over them, and there’s a scream as fire temporarily casts the street in red and yellow. 

“I think we found our guy,” Donghyuck says, nudging Mark, whose nose is wrinkled. 

“We’ll call you when we get set up,” Jeno promises. “For now, try to get him drawn away from the cops.” 

“They’ve got the whole street blocked off,” Jaemin reports, looking up from his phone. “There’s Raven Park north of here—Brooklyn and 62nd, if you can get him—” 

“Jaemin, c’mon, we gotta get out of here before the police catch us,” Jeno says, grabbing Jaemin’s arm. 

“Call me,” Jaemin says, winking, and lets Jeno haul him away. Renjun starts to follow, but Donghyuck grabs his sleeve, suddenly afraid that he won’t get to apologize for their argument on Thursday.

“Renjun,” he says, “about the fight—I just wanted to say I’m s—” 

“I know you are,” Renjun interrupts, looking guilty. “I am too.” 

Donghyuck exhales. “You were right, though.” 

Renjun frowns. “There were a hundred better ways to say it, though. I just—I don’t want you to get hurt. And this whole business with—” He stops, but Donghyuck knows who he’s talking about. “You guys are my best friends,” Renjun continues a little more fiercely. “I just want you to work it out and stop hurting.” 

“_Renjun_,” Jeno calls, already halfway down the alley. “Come on.” 

Donghyuck releases Renjun’s sleeve, and Renjun gives him a smile. “We can talk more later. For now, stay safe,” he says quietly, and jogs to catch up with their friends. 

A strange impulse pushes at Donghyuck’s chest, and for a second, he feels like he’s going to cry. “I love you!” he shouts after Renjun before he can think about it. 

Renjun turns pink and waves him off before he disappears around the corner. Donghyuck knows that means _ I love you too. _

He turns back to Mark, who’s tightening his hat and making sure his face mask is in place. Donghyuck reaches out, unthinking, to pull Mark’s hood out from the back of his jacket. 

Mark looks at him for a long second, and Donghyuck resists the urge to drop his eyes and get defensive. It feels like Mark is trying to pry apart the tangled mess around his heart, and Donghyuck feels strangely warm despite the vulnerability of the moment. 

“You alright?” Mark asks, and it’s too gentle, too quiet for the moment they’re supposed to be in. The same strange impulse to cry rises again in Donghyuck’s chest, and he chokes on his words. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little strangled. “Are we good? Can we go?” 

Mark looks at him for a second longer, and Donghyuck almost breaks right then and there. But a massive _ crash _sounds in the distance, and Donghyuck pulls himself back together. Things are on fire. People are in danger. The time for crying will be later. 

“Yeah,” Mark says, taking a deep breath and tapping his bat on the ground. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

It’s a sight to behold, something straight from a movie or a comic book. Thirty or so zombie-demons—and those are just the ones on their feet—crash against the overturned, wrecked police cars, the officers behind them shooting without looking. There’s a shimmer every now and then as Twofold tosses a shield up, repelling another wave of zombie-demons. Streetlights are covered in black goo, and the cops themselves are drenched in it. The reinforcements haven’t arrived yet, so it’s just beat cops and detectives in bulletproof vests, fighting for their lives. 

And that’s ignoring the flame dude. Which is an impressive feat, Donghyuck thinks, since he’s probably seven feet tall, absolutely _ jacked, _and hurling half-melted globs of asphalt over the heads of the zombie-demons. He misses most times, taking out a parked car or a building—Donghyuck hopes they’ve been evacuated—but when he gets behind the police line, the effect is devastating. 

“We gotta get him away from here,” Donghyuck says furiously, shoving his headphones into his ear and accepting Jaemin’s incoming call. 

Mark fumbles to join it while Renjun rattles off a plan that only half-sticks in Donghyuck’s head.

“Hi guys,” Jeno says. “You need to get the flame dude’s attention.” 

“How do we do that?” Donghyuck asks, sprinting and ducking behind a car before anyone can notice him. “We know nothing about him.” 

“Not true,” Jisung interrupts. “Jaemin’s got police records.” 

“Frank Kipler, thirty-eight. Charged with two counts of armed robberies, some vehicular manslaughter, and a bunch of arrests for aggravated assault,” Jaemin reads off. “He got out during one of the prison breaks a few weeks ago.” 

“Breakbeach?” Mark asks, wincing as flame-man tosses a molten hunk of metal. Twofold throws up his hands and deflects it before falling back. He looks tired.

“No, before that,” Jaemin says. “The point is—”

“He’s dumb,” Jisung interrupts. “Just taunt him. Draw him north. Chenle will get down there and let the cops know what you’re doing.” 

“Will that even work?” Jeno interrupts. 

“Yeah, what about my plan?” Renjun adds. 

Mark looks over to Donghyuck, who shrugs. “There’s only one way to find out,” Mark says. 

There’s silence on the other side of the line. “What does that mean?” Jeno asks slowly, like he’s afraid to know. 

Mark gives Donghyuck a mischievous look, and jumps out from behind their hiding spot. 

“Hey!” Mark shouts at the flame-dude, who doesn’t hear him over the sound of the fight. “HEY!” Mark repeats, grabbing a piece of debris and chucking it at Frank Kipler just as he pulls his arm back to shoot another fireball. It hits him square in the back of the head, and he turns, hands blazing. When he sees Mark and Donghyuck, though, he starts to laugh. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” he chortles. “What are you kids doing here? Come to help that hero of yours?” 

“Why do you ask?” Donghyuck says, ignoring Jeno’s chants of _ bad idea bad idea bad idea _in his ear. “Afraid to fight us?”

“Afraid to fight a coupla _ kids? _” Kipler laughs again. “Nah. Now you better scram before I get mad and torch you to bits.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Donghyuck taunts. 

“Mark, do something,” Jisung groans over the phone. “He’s gonna get flamed.” 

Mark grins and turns to Kipler, arms crossed. “I think he’s afraid, Hyuck. Look at him, tossing fireballs at the police. He wants them to notice him.”

“Aw, why, afraid you’re gonna get upstaged by a bunch of zombies and two college kids?” Donghyuck makes a simpering face at Kipler, and Mark laughs loudly, which really does the trick. 

“Oh boy,” Renjun sighs, as Kipler’s face turns an impressive shade of red. 

“Alright, you’re askin’ for it now,” he says, and holds a hand out, firing a sizzling column of flame in their direction. Donghyuck jumps onto the top of a car, ignoring the alarms that go off as he does. 

“Not even close,” Donghyuck teases, and Kipler roars, charging forward. He grabs the car Donghyuck’s on and flips it, trying to crush him. 

Donghyuck lets the momentum launch him into the air, does a neat backflip, and lands solidly on his feet. Mark is stifling laughter as Kipler rages, the asphalt around him liquefying in the heat that ripples off his body. 

“You’ll have to try a little harder than that, dude!” Mark shouts, gleeful. “He’s pretty light on his feet!” 

“What the hell?” Kipler shouts as Donghyuck dodges away from another blast of heat. “Stand—still!” 

“Don’t think I will,” Donghyuck says brightly. He’s a little rusty, muscles aching with disuse, but two weeks of inactivity fade as muscle memory takes over. He’d done drill after drill with Mya in this exact way—dodging, skipping, twisting and flipping. Not on the offensive, not yet. Just waiting, drawing Kipler farther and farther away from the scene of the crime. Mark pelts him with rocks, the skin on his palms healing instantly after he blocks a glob of hot asphalt with his hands. This just infuriates Kipler more. “Why won’t you _ burn? _” he shouts angrily. Mark just grins, and Donghyuck feels such a ferocious rush of affection for him that he can’t help but smile back. 

Mark is laughing by the time they reunite on the sidewalk just outside of the park. Kipler stalks around on the opposite side, furious but clearly wary of Donghyuck’s speed and Mark’s baseball bat and healing abilities. 

“Good job,” Renjun says, and he sounds surprised. “You did it.” 

“Dude, he’s so pissed,” Mark says, patting Donghyuck on the back. “There’s no way he’ll go back to the cops now. He wants to torch us first.” 

Kipler pulls something out of his back pocket—it’s a mask, Donghyuck realizes, as he puts it on. But it’s so poorly-constructed and misshapen that Donghyuck and Mark both burst into laughter at the sight of it. Donghyuck leans on Mark for support, breathless and delighted. God, he’s missed this so much. 

“Who are you supposed to be with that on?” Donghyuck calls. “Little Red Riding Hood?” 

“I am…_THE FURNACE,_” Kipler yells, sending Donghyuck and Mark into another bout of hysterical laughter. 

“Aw, man,” Mark says. “He already named himself.” He grabs Donghyuck by the back of his jacket and pulls him to the side just as Kipler-slash-the-Furnace blasts another column of fire in their direction. 

“That mask _ really _ is not working for him,” Donghyuck says. “It’s very poorly-painted. He looks like a cross between Skeletor and that red dude from _ Star Wars. _Except, like, it’s from a B-grade movie. From the eighties.” 

“Very specific,” Mark notes. “And I agree. Bad eighties vibes. That was when disco was a thing, too, and you know how I feel about disco.” 

“You hate it,” Donghyuck says, grinning. 

“That I do.” 

“I can’t believe his villain name is the Furnace,” Donghyuck says, shaking his head. “Truly tragic.” 

“A moment of silence,” Mark says, the laughter in his voice barely suppressed. 

“WHAT ARE YOU TWO WHISPERING ABOUT OVER THERE,” the Furnace booms, shooting more fire at them. Donghyuck doesn’t even bother to worry about dodging, because Mark’s already pulled them out of the way. 

“The whole danger-alarm-system is really great, you know,” Donghyuck says. 

“Thanks,” Mark replies. “I’m sorry I got so pissed about it.” 

Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s in the past.” 

They make eye contact, and some of the humor dies from their conversation as they both remember the events from his morning. If Donghyuck squints, he can make out where the hickey used to be on Mark’s collarbone, trying to shake off the ominous, sinking feeling in his gut when he thinks about it. 

_ Probably not me, _ Donghyuck reminds himself. _ Probably Jaden. _

For once, Jaden’s name doesn’t make his stomach turn. Who would've thought _that _was possible? 

“Guys,” Jaemin’s voice comes through Donghyuck’s headphones, a little staticky, “the police and Chenle are not having a good time with these zombie-demons. They’re coordinating their attacks, and we don’t know who’s controlling them. The police are gonna need back-up, and soon. So as touching as this conversation is, you sorta need to get a move-on.” 

“I AM THE FURNACE!” the Furnace shouts again, raising his hands. Donghyuck rolls his eyes, nimbly leaping out of the way and onto a newspaper box. 

“We get it!” Donghyuck shouts back at him. “You’ve got fire powers, and a furnace is hot! You’re not as clever as you think you are!” 

“RAHH!” the Furnace roars, and shoots some more flames at Donghyuck, which he dodges again. He reaches for the katana strapped to his back, before remembering that he doesn’t _ have _ it, because he woke up in bed with Mark Lee, half-naked, and some stupid zombie-demons came crashing through the window before he could get to his dorm room and _ get it. _

But Donghyuck is not entirely without weapons—save for his razor-sharp wit, he’s got his safety knife, back in place. He pulls it out and immediately feels better. 

“Ready?” he shouts at Mark, who hefts his baseball bat with a grin. And nothing else, Donghyuck finds, matters in that moment, because Mark Lee is smiling at him, and the two of them are keeping this thing from rampaging down the street and taking their friends and all those police officers out. 

“Ready,” Mark shouts back, and when Donghyuck leaps from the mailbox, he finally starts to feel like a whole person. 

* * *

All of Donghyuck’s problems fade as they fight Frank Kipler, a.k.a. the Furnace (both names are equally ridiculous). He forgets about Jaden, about his fight with Renjun, about his doomed, pathetic, one-sided love. He forgets about Taeil, about the zombie-demons, about everything. The world becomes one moment: him and Mark in this park, springboarding off of cars and sliding underneath columns of flames and whacking the Furnace in the knees. 

They fall back into their old rhythm so easily it’s like they never stopped. Mark watches his blind spots; Donghyuck does the heavy hitting. Donghyuck cartwheels and flips and slides; Mark sneaks up behind and hits the Furnace hard on the back of his head. Kipler crumples like wet paper, hitting the concrete with a heavy _ thud, _out cold. Mark looks at the baseball bat and then back down at Kipler. 

“I didn’t hit him that hard,” Mark says, confused. “I thought his helmet would’ve protected him?” He bends down and rolls his eyes. “Figures,” he continues. “It wasn’t protective at all. In fact, I think it’s made out of latex. It’s sort of melting to his face right now.” 

“Ew,” Donghyuck says, shaking out his sore hands and putting his knife away. He unmutes himself on the phone call. “Yo, we got the Furnace knocked out,” he announces. 

“You did?” Renjun says immediately. “That was quick.” 

“Good timing, too,” Jisung answers. “Jeno and Chenle both went down there to help—Twofold’s pissed, of course—and it’s not looking good.” 

“_Chenle _went to help?” Mark says, standing again. “Are they alright?” 

“For now,” Renjun says darkly. “Jaemin’s driving me nuts with his pacing, though. You know how he gets about Jeno.” 

“I can hear you!” Jaemin shouts petulantly in the distance. 

“He’s mad because I won’t let him and Jisung go and help too,” Renjun informs them. “Anyway, send me your location and we’ll get some cops over there.” 

Donghyuck texts it to him, and they only have about thirty seconds of waiting before the sirens appear, blue and red cutting through the falling darkness. Rain is coming, and the heavy clouds have brought a false sense of dusk with them. 

Donghyuck fights every reflex he has to run, opting to instead pull his mask a little higher and his hood a little lower. Mark does the same, giving Donghyuck a truly panicked look when the cops get out of their cars. The first is Officer Johnny Seo, who they both recognize from previous run-ins—and _ Jaemin’s mom, _looking very intense and professional in her uniform, her ponytail neat despite the grime on her face. She squints at them curiously as the officers swarm in and haul a dazed, mostly-unconscious Kipler into the armored van. Mark and Donghyuck shift and try not to look too guilty. 

“You definitely shouldn’t be here,” she informs them coolly. “This is a police scene, and you know that.” 

Donghyuck resists the urge to apologize. Jaemin’s mom is scary when she’s not smiling. Saying anything will give both of them away. 

“However,” Captain Na continues, her face softening, “you’ve saved a lot of good lives doing this, so I’m going to thank you anyway. You’re good boys.” The smile she gives them is uncanny and knowing, and Donghyuck gets the impression they’re not doing a terribly good job fooling her. 

“I thought you guys weren’t supposed to be fighting, though,” Officer Seo asks. “Didn’t Taeil want you guys to stay safe?” 

“_Taeil?” _ Donghyuck asks before he can help it, and Captain Na turns to him with an eyebrow raised. _ How is this guy on a first-name basis with Twofold? _

“Did he now, Seo,” Captain Na asks, folding her arms. Johnny turns a little red, and Mark nudges Donghyuck. _ Time to get out of here. _“And how would you know that?” 

While Officer Seo sputters and tries to come up with an excuse, Donghyuck and Mark slip from the park, taking cover in an alley. Only when they’re out of sight of the cops do they stop and breathe. 

“Phew,” Mark says, pinching and lowering his mask under his chin. “That was close. I was not expecting Jaemin’s mom.” 

“How’s it looking up there, guys?” Donghyuck says. 

“It’s just me,” Jisung replies. “They left me to pack up. Renjun and Jaemin went down to go get Jeno and Chenle. The fight is over, it looks like—all the zombie-demons have either scattered or been knocked-out. They got the heavy reinforcements in here and that was a big help. They’re starting the sweep to make sure they’ve got all of them.” 

“Cool,” Donghyuck says. “Should we meet you back at the apartment?” 

Jisung pauses. “Uh, I don’t know. Let me get down and ask the rest, and I’ll text you, ‘kay?” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Donghyuck says, and the line goes dead. He lowers his hood and wipes his sweaty face. “Should we start towards your apartment?” he asks Mark, who nods. 

“I don’t wanna be on the streets while they’re sweeping it, for sure,” Mark agrees, and they start to walk.

The street is oddly quiet and empty, red and blue reflecting off of buildings and windows in the distance. The police are opening up the closed-off sections, now that the Furnace and the zombie-demons have been taken care of. 

Which also means the awkwardness from this morning finally sets in between Donghyuck and Mark, manifesting in the cautious amount of space between them as they walk. The silence between them grows increasingly tense, and Donghyuck can only bite his tongue against it for so long. 

“So, um,” Donghyuck finally says, shooting for casual but failing miserably. “Are we, um—I mean, if you don’t want to—” 

“About what?” Mark asks, ears already turning pink. 

_ Please don’t make me say it, _Donghyuck begs mentally, but Mark has speed-healing, not mind-reading, and he’s also confrontation-averse. 

So Donghyuck says it: 

“This morning. When we woke up in the same bed.” He pauses, just in case the universe takes mercy on him and strikes him down. It doesn’t. “I just wanted to, um, be clear—” 

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Mark agrees, nodding his head too many times. “That’s a good idea.” 

“I’m trying to be more open,” Donghyuck says, gesturing helplessly. “But I also don’t…remember much from that night, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions.” 

Mark nods again. Donghyuck hopes he doesn’t get whiplash. “I don’t remember much either,” Mark says. “Just—” 

“Was it Jaden?” Donghyuck blurts before he can help it. “Because it’s totally cool if it is—I know you guys have, like, a thing or whatever—” 

“What?” Mark asks, blinking. He trips over a crack in the sidewalk, and Donghyuck grabs him so hard his shoulder nearly dislocates. “Jaden?” 

“Yeah, the hickey—” 

“Hold on, hold on,” Mark says, raising his hands and almost tripping again. “Jaden was only at the party for like, ten minutes, first off—” 

“_Ten minutes? _” Donghyuck yelps, trying to remember. He definitely saw Jaden at the beginning—Mark had smiled, Donghyuck had felt homicidal…but then the rest of his memory is gone. “Then who—?” 

Mark goes very, very quiet. “There wasn’t…anybody,” he says, so quietly Donghyuck almost misses it. “Just you.” 

Donghyuck exhales sharply, several things finally clicking into place. The first one: he one-hundred percent, without a doubt, gave Mark that hickey. The second: Mark probably knows Donghyuck likes him now. The third: he’s most likely just ruined their friendship forever and now he’s going to have to hang out with Jisung for the rest of his life.

He _ kissed _ Mark Lee, ruined their friendship, and _ doesn’t even remember it. _God, karma’s a bitch, and it also has a fucked-up sense of humor. 

“Listen, Donghyuck, Jaden and I are—” Mark starts. 

“Mark, I gotta tell you something—” Donghyuck says at the same time. 

They both stop in their tracks, staring at each other. Donghyuck’s hands are sweating, his heart thundering in his chest. Mark’s eyes are wide. 

“You go first,” Donghyuck says, voice trembling. 

“No, it’s okay, you go,” Mark assures him. “What do you have to tell me?” 

Donghyuck gathers up every ounce of courage he possesses, taking a deep breath in through his nose. All of the conversations he’s had with his friends—and with himself—flash through his mind in an instant, and he looks Mark dead in the eye. 

“Basically,” Donghyuck starts, “I—” 

His phone rings, and he cuts himself short to look at the caller ID. “It’s Jisung,” he says in surprise. “Jisung never calls.” 

“Definitely answer it,” Mark agrees, and Donghyuck can’t help the relief that washes over him for the second time this morning as he picks up the call, putting it on speakerphone. 

“Hello?” Donghyuck says tentatively, giving Mark a nervous look. 

“Hyuck? Oh, thank god,” Jisung says. It sounds like he’s very out-of-breath. “Jaemin, Jaemin, I’ve got Donghyuck on the phone—” 

Jaemin shouts something unintelligible in the background. Sirens blare loudly, and there’s the sound of wheels clattering on pavement. 

“Jisung, what’s wrong?” Donghyuck asks urgently, relief quickly replaced by dread, crawling slow and sticky up his spine. 

Something shatters. Donghyuck can hear Jeno swear loudly. 

“_Jisung,_” Donghyuck repeats. 

“Shit, sorry,” Jisung says. “You need to get over here _ now, _guys. Renjun—” 

Another long pause as Jaemin shouts something again. The sirens get louder. 

“Renjun’s going to the hospital,” Jisung finishes, and Donghyuck’s stomach drops to his knees, nausea swelling in his chest. Mark’s face has gone white, expression frozen. 

“What happened to him?” Donghyuck asks. “Is he alive?” 

“He’s…alive,” Jisung says hesitantly. “But he—he got bitten by one of those things, Hyuck,” he whispers. “The zombie-demons. They got him.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love you guys pls don't be mad :)
> 
> comments, questions, crits are all welcome!  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	16. interlude: last night, he said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donghyuck from the outside.

Donghyuck is actually one of the few that forget what happened at the party. Most people, when they wake up that next morning, think, wow, did that really happen? And slowly, the myriad of Snapchat stories, incoherent text messages and Sharpie drawings on a hundred different arms all come together to tell the tale of that night. 

* * *

**i. Chenle**

It is a dumpster fire of a night, a big flaming shitshow. Four people vomit in the side yard, three people trip over the extension cord and accidently cut the music. There are two girls that lose their pants somehow. A boy puts his elbow through a window, and the cops show up twice. The girls at the beer table run out by midnight, but somehow, people keep getting drunker. 

By midnight, Chenle has played three rounds of beer pong and lost them all. Jisung has a grip on the back of his shirt—at his own request, because he keeps shadow-stepping by accident. This is the drunkest he’s ever been, and it’s veering rapidly from fun to unpleasant.

Some slow-jam guitar song is playing through the speakers, and everyone in the living room is swaying to it. Chenle can spot Jaemin and Jeno, their arms linked. Jeno steps on Jaemin’s foot about a hundred times, but Jaemin doesn’t seem to mind. 

Staring at the swaying makes Chenle’s stomach act similarly, and he grabs Jisung by the elbow. 

“Jisung,” he says, dread rising like bile in his throat—except, no, that actually is vomit. “I’m going to barf.”

Before Jisung can even open his mouth to reply, Chenle tightens his hold and steps sideways into the shadows. It takes all of his focus to get them outside, which means he loses the grip he has on the contents of his stomach. The air temperature changes abruptly as they stumble out of the darkness by the front of the house. Jisung trips over a cobblestone, and Chenle staggers towards the trash can by the curb. He barely makes it in time, his body doing its best to turn itself inside out as he’s violently sick. 

There’s a gentle hand on his back, too warm to be Jisung’s, and something cool nudges his cheek. He straightens, wiping his mouth, to see Renjun and Donghyuck, the former holding an unopened bottle of water. Donghyuck’s eyes are swollen, like he’d been crying. Chenle hopes it’s because he and Renjun made up, not because something bad happens. 

The sight of them is almost too much to bear. He’s drunk, out of his element, and feels very, very young in comparison to the rest of them. 

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks, even though he’s the one who looks worse for wear. 

Chenle nods, a knee-jerk reaction. Then he realizes that he feels like crap, and shakes his head slowly. “Where’s Jisung?”

“He’s peeing,” Renjun says. He peers at Chenle’s face. “Was that your first drunk-barf?” 

Chenle nods again, and takes a sip of the water he’d been given. Something awful expands and trembles in his chest as they stand in silence, and then Donghyuck bursts into tears. 

Chenle startles, sloshing water all over his shirt and his hands. Renjun, however, doesn’t look perturbed—he sighs and pats Donghyuck on the back. 

“He’s done this twice already,” Renjun says as Donghyuck drops his face into his hands, shoulders heaving. “He’s beating himself up about a hundred different things at once. And since he’s drunk, it’s manifesting as crying.” 

“At least he’s not punching holes through the wall,” Chenle says, trying for optimism and falling flat. The thing in his chest is pushing at his throat, and tears well in his own eyes. “Do you…need a hug, Hyuck?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck croaks miserably, and tips forward, his forehead cracking against Chenle’s collarbone. He nearly knocks them both off-balance, but Chenle hangs onto him as tight as he can. Donghyuck’s arms hang loosely at his sides, and Chenle links his fingers behind Donghyuck’s back, trying to breathe through the bitterness. 

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Jisung asks, approaching in Chenle’s peripheral. “Are they okay?” 

“Just in need of a hug,” Renjun says gently. Jisung hesitates, but Donghyuck reaches for him without looking up. Jisung sighs, resigned, and lets Donghyuck pull him close. 

“Come on, Renjun,” Jisung says as Donghyuck shudders, sniffing loudly. “Hug time.” 

“No,” Renjun says, but leans into the three of them anyway, resting his cheek briefly on the side of Donghyuck’s head. 

Chenle hiccups, and the four of them jump a few inches sideways, flickering through the shadows. 

“Sorry,” Chenle says, and Renjun laughs as he steps back. “It’s hard to control when I’m drunk.” 

Jisung grabs the back of Chenle’s shirt, eyes curving as he smiles. “Don’t worry, Chenle,” he says. “We’ve got you.” 

Donghyuck, whose face looks even worse now, wipes his eyes and nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, sniffling. “We’ve got your back.” 

“And we’ve got yours, Hyuck,” Chenle reminds him. “Okay?” 

Donghyuck nods rapidly, tears welling in his eyes again. 

“Okay,” Renjun says quickly, grabbing Donghyuck by the shoulders and steering him back towards the party. “No more crying, Hyuck. Let’s go find something fun to do, okay?” He nods at Jisung and Chenle. “See you guys in a bit?” 

“Yeah,” Jisung says, nodding. “Don’t have too much fun in there.” 

* * *

**ii. Renjun **

This is no fun. This is no fun. 

“This is gonna be so fun,” Donghyuck says, ecstatic, and Renjun can’t believe he’s spent the last forty-five minutes crying.

“You’re going to break every single bone in your body,” Renjun deadpans. He’s glad they’re both drunk enough to stop holding grudges. He doesn’t regret what he said, necessarily—it’s how he said it that he feels bad about. It kept him awake last night, guilt chasing anger chasing anxiety. _ Why did I do that—he’s the one being unreasonable—what if we can never recover from this? _

But under the comfortable haze of alcohol, Renjun’s mind has quieted a little bit. The stony, rocky parts of him have softened and submerged, and now he’s alternating between fond exasperation and genuine worry as Donghyuck keeps going farther and farther. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been kicked out yet—but it’s only twelve-thirty, so there’s still time. And this could be it, right here, because there’d been a short girl with well-built shoulders and arms, and a meeting of overly-inflated egos and insufferable pride that has led to—

“A competition, then,” the girl had said, clenching her jaw. “Gymnastics. Floor moves. Ten bucks you won’t be able to do it.” 

Donghyuck had accepted, of course, and now he’s going to crack his skull open and get kicked out of the party, and then Renjun will be forced to kill him. 

“You don’t even know gymnastics,” Renjun tries, going for a more logical approach. Donghyuck ignores him, of course, and Renjun berates himself for even trying to reason with Donghyuck. It’s pointless when he’s emotionally stable and sober, and he’s the exact opposite of both of those things right now. 

“Look, there’s Mark,” Renjun tries again, pointing to the other side of the yard. The crowd has cleared out to make room for Donghyuck and the girl, who’s swinging her arms and glaring at Donghyuck. “You don’t want to look like a dumbass in front of him, do you?” 

The girl takes a few running start, plants her hands, springs into the air, flips, and lands on her feet. She only stumbles a little bit, which is impressive given how drunk she seems. 

“Donghyuck,” Renjun says, despairing. 

“I won’t mess up,” Donghyuck says, the confidence in his voice ringing clear. “You’re forgetting, Renjun, that Mya trained me in way deadlier sports than gymnastics.” 

“That still doesn’t mean—” 

“I’ve done a flip with a sword,” Donghyuck reminds him. “This should be a piece of cake.” 

“Are you too scared?” the girl taunts from the other end of the circle. “If you just admit that gymnastics isn’t easy, I’ll let you off the bet!” 

“No way,” Donghyuck calls back. He pats Renjun on the shoulder, and before Renjun can stop him, he’s sprinting, arms strong and steady as he tosses himself up, and then around, landing neatly on his feet, not even a little off-balance. 

There is a moment of stunned silence. Donghyuck had just executed that better than the girl herself—he’d done it perfectly, as far as Renjun can tell. 

And then the whole yard explodes into noise, and people swarm Donghyuck, who looks so pleased he’s practically glowing. The girl begrudgingly slaps ten dollars into Donghyuck’s hand after double-checking to make sure he hadn’t done any sort of aerobic tumbling sport before. 

Renjun is about to grab Donghyuck and haul him back inside—and then he notices the way Mark is smiling at Donghyuck. 

Renjun stops in his tracks, and Donghyuck looks up. The glee on Donghyuck’s face gets an edge to it, and Mark’s grin widens like he knows something dangerous. 

_ Time to go, _ Renjun thinks. _ Before my best friends can do something extremely fucking stupid. _

* * *

**iii. Jeno**

They do something extremely fucking stupid, anyway. 

Well, it starts off alright. They get out of their party clothes and Mark makes ramen and Donghyuck tries to open another beer—Jeno can tell nothing is sticking in his brain anymore—and Jaemin switches it out for a root beer, which is both clever and pretty hysterical. Donghyuck doesn’t like root beer but he forgets it’s in his hand, which means every time he takes a sip, his face crumples in disgust. Jisung almost busts a lung laughing, and then promptly passes out on the couch. Chenle takes refuge in the bathroom, and Renjun goes to help him—the two of them will wake up tomorrow morning under a mountain of towels and wonder how they got there. 

Donghyuck is standing in the doorway of Mark’s bedroom, struggling with the buttons on the front of his shirt. He looks a little more sober than he did about an hour ago, which is good. 

“Jaemin,” Donghyuck mumbles, barely conscious. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep standing up. 

“No,” Jaemin says, his head down on the table. He’s also half-asleep. “Get the dumbass to help you.” 

Jeno and Mark exchange a look, trying to figure out which of them is the dumbass in this instance. Eventually, they decide it’s Mark, who gets up, reaching for Donghyuck’s shirt. 

Donghyuck slaps his hand away so hard Mark about loses his balance, peering at him through half-closed eyes. “You’re not Jaemin,” he says. He grabs Mark’s face with one hand, squishing his cheeks and studying him closer. “You’re Mark Lee. I need to talk to you.” 

Mark’s ears are turning pink, and Jeno has to cover his mouth to stop himself from bursting into laughter. Mark shoots him an annoyed look. 

“C’mon, Hyuck,” Mark says, stepping out of Donghyuck’s reach and patting him on the shoulder. “We can talk in here.” He nods at Jeno. “Night, guys. See you in the morning.” 

“Good luck with that, dude,” Jeno says, barely holding his laughter in. “Sleep well.” 

“Fuck,” Mark replies, and closes the door behind him with a small click. 

* * *

**iii. Mark **

Alcohol makes Mark stupid. Stupid and brave. It’s hard to think through the haze of it, and there’s something familiar about the way Donghyuck is looking at him but Mark can’t quite place what it is, or why it feels like his skin is two sizes too small. 

“What,” Donghyuck asks, defensive. They’re sitting on the edge of the bed, and Mark can just see the outline of his shoulders and the glint of his eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. 

“Why do you always look at me like that?” Mark blurts. 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to reply. No words come out, though—he just sits there and blinks at Mark, his brow furrowed. 

“Because,” Donghyuck says, and the curve of his mouth tugs at Mark’s gut like a hook, deep and searing. 

And then he’s leaning forward—and forward—and then his mouth is on Mark’s, and it burns a hole through the back of Mark’s head and stirs something in the darkest, most hidden part of his mind. 

_ Oh no_, Mark thinks, and puts his hand on Donghyuck’s waist anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mark pov 100% chosen by twitter so 
> 
> i do not see it  
i do not see
> 
> twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	17. regarding pride and egoism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Less talking,_ Donghyuck thinks, _and more doing._
> 
> Featuring: 
> 
> Kun's pride, Donghyuck's ego, three vague, cryptic conversations, a piece of advice that doesn't help, and Mark Lee's goddamn smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i'm sorry this chapter is a little late--i postponed it as things escalated so i could take some time to reflect, listen, educate myself, and act. but i feel in a good enough state (mentally, emotionally!) to post this now, so enjoy!! 
> 
> thank you to everyone who sent ccs or dm'd me too!! it's always so nice to hear from you!

And just like that, all of Donghyuck’s problems become inconsequential. His feelings, his thoughts, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue—all of it fades away, because right now, it no longer matters. 

“We have to get to the hospital,” he says, and Mark can only nod silently. He’s processing, Donghyuck knows. Digesting. It’ll take him a second, so Donghyuck takes the wheel and guides them both to the main street. He hails the cab. He shoves Mark in first and buckles him and closes the door, tells the driver _ City Center Medicine _and puts his hand on Mark’s knee, which is bouncing up and down, up and down. 

“He’s gonna be okay,” Mark says, and he turns to Donghyuck like he wants to be convinced. “Right?” 

“Right,” Donghyuck says, trying to infuse confidence into his voice. “Remember Chenle? We whacked him a couple times and he was just fine.” 

Mark takes a breath through his nose. Donghyuck squeezes his knee, and it stills. By the time they get to the hospital and Donghyuck tosses a couple bills onto the center console, his expression is still worried, but calm. 

It’s Donghyuck’s turn to feel a little sick to his stomach as they walk into the hospital, spotting their friends almost instantly, sitting against the wall. They’re spattered with black goo and look worse for wear—Jaemin sports a developing black eye, and Chenle’s chin and cheek are a little bloody—but otherwise, they’re alive and in one piece. Jeno’s curled up in the chair, his face tucked against his knees. Jisung, who’s covered in a fine gray dust, has a hand on his shoulder. 

“Oh, thank god you’re alright,” Chenle says when they approach. Jisung and Jaemin offer them tired, relieved smiles. Jeno doesn’t move. Donghyuck thinks he might be asleep. 

“How’s Renjun?” Mark asks, sitting down next to Chenle. 

“The doctors are looking at him right now,” Jaemin says. “In terms of physical injury, it’s really not bad. Just a couple stitches. But the effect of the _ goo_—well, that’s a different story.” 

“Did he—?” Donghyuck starts, but cuts himself off when guilt rises in his throat, burning like bile. 

Jaemin purses his lips and glances over at Jeno. “He, um—” 

“I had the chance to save him,” Jeno says bleakly, finally lifting his head. His face is pale and his eyes are red and swollen, and the side of his head is covered in zombie-demon goo and blood. “But I didn’t want to hurt him. He nearly got away—almost ran after the rest of the horde—if Chenle hadn’t been there—” 

“Stop it,” Jisung sighs. “Jeno, you can’t beat _ yourself _ up for not wanting to beat your _ best friend _up.”

“If it had been Hyuck, though—” Jeno protests. 

“Donghyuck is a terrible measure of what is good and normal,” Jaemin interrupts with a surprising amount of ferocity. 

“Hey,” Donghyuck says weakly, but it’s true. He’d hit Chenle without hesitation. He’d killed Mark, too—on accident, but still, he _ did it— _and he would’ve punched Renjun, also. If that’s what had needed to be done, he would’ve done it. Violence or not.

Mya used to say something like that. _ Violence isn’t always the answer—but when it is, you must not hesitate. _

Or maybe it’d just been _ you must not hesitate. _He can’t remember much of what she’d said—the only solid memories he has left are what his muscles know, the transition from one martial art to another, the way to grip and swing a sword to maim, not kill. How to toss a man through a window. Where to hit your best friend when he’s turning into a zombie-demon. 

Jeno doesn’t know that, though. He hadn’t been turned into a weapon. 

“Sorry, Donghyuck,” Jaemin says, and he grabs Jeno by the shoulder, ducking his head so he can look Jeno in the eye. “You’re a good friend, Jeno. Renjun won’t blame you for it. None of us will, either. And you shouldn’t blame yourself.” 

“That’s not going to stop me,” Jeno says, a little dryly. 

“Then we’ll say it until you believe us,” Donghyuck chimes in stubbornly. “It’s not your fault.” 

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees. “Not your fault.” 

Jeno sighs tiredly. “You guys are the most stubborn bastards I’ve ever met in my life.” 

“Good,” Jaemin says, and he smiles. He throws an arm around Jeno and Chene’s shoulders and pulls them close. “And when we’re done here, we’ll go and take an extra hit on my bong just for him.” 

“That is the most on-brand thing I think I’ve heard you say,” Mark comments. 

Donghyuck takes the chair on the other side of Jaemin. “That’s a really sick black eye,” he says. “How’d that happen?” 

“Definitely because I was saving Jisung from five bloodthirsty zombie-demons,” Jaemin says, “and definitely not because I got punched in the face while I was trying to run away.” 

“It was pretty funny,” Jisung says. “Despite, like, the gunshots and the fact that it was really not a time to be laughing.” 

Donghyuck laughs while he imagines it. “Just thinking about it is funny.” 

“I’m here to entertain,” Jaemin says, winking. “Oh, shit, is that Renjun’s mom?”

It is indeed Renjun’s mom, her hair frazzled and the front of her shirt covered in what looks like tomato sauce. She must’ve rushed here from the restaurant she owns. Renjun’s dad appears a second later, and as always, Donghyuck feels like he’s looking at Renjun in thirty years, that’s how similar he and his dad are. 

There’s a flickering, brief thought about which parent Donghyuck looks more like. Mya never told him—and there were never any pictures, anyway. 

But once again, that’s not important, because his best friend is lying in a hospital bed with an IV in the crook of his elbow, his face pale and drawn. 

“He was asking for you, Donghyuck,” Renjun’s mother says worriedly, twisting her hand through her hair. “He wouldn’t say why. Or anything else, for that matter. The doctors say there’s nothing technically wrong with him, even though he was bitten by one of those—those _ things _,” she says, mouth twisting. 

Donghyuck looks back at his friends, who hover behind Renjun’s parents with equally nervous looks on their faces. He meets Mark’s eyes. _ Be ready, _Donghyuck mouths at him. Mark nods, and Donghyuck takes a deep breath and slides the door open. The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping from the vitals monitor and whir of the heating unit in the corner. 

Donghyuck thinks Renjun is asleep for a half-second, but his eyelids flutter and shift before Donghyuck can turn to leave. 

“You came,” Renjun says quietly, and Donghyuck steps closer so he can hear better. 

“I did,” Donghyuck says. He sits down on the chair next to Renjun’s bed. “I am so sorry that we didn’t get there sooner, Renjun,” he says, and wrinkles his nose when the corners of his eyes prick with tears. 

Renjun doesn’t say anything, just looks at Donghyuck with a curiously blank expression. “You’re sorry?” 

Donghyuck frowns. “One-hundred percent, dude. For everything. For the fight, for the fact that one of those things got you. Jeno’s tearing himself apart over it. I am too. I feel—I feel _ so _guilty, Renjun. And I get it if you can’t forgive me right now, but I hope that you can. In the future.” 

“Hmm,” Renjun says. He looks at Donghyuck without focusing on him, and a slow, ominous sensation crawls up Donghyuck’s spine. “Why did you come, Donghyuck?” 

“Here? Because I was worried—” 

“No,” Renjun interrupts, and an unfamiliar scowl creases his brow. “I mean _ here. _To this city.” 

“What the _ fuck _are you talking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Renjun? Is it the goo? Have they got you again?” 

“Yeah, they’ve got me,” Renjun says, scowl deepening. Something dark flickers in his eyes, and Donghyuck starts to stand slowly, hand going to where his safety knife is tucked away under his jacket. “Bit me right in the goddamn neck, _ Hyuck. _ I’m going to ask again: _ why did you come to this city?” _

“You know why,” Donghyuck says, taking a step back and nearly tripping on the chair he’d just been in. Panic is turning his fingers icy cold, and he casts a look towards the door. “Mya dropped me off here.” 

“Mya,” Renjun says quietly, like he’s trying the name out, rolling it around in his mouth. “Right. She knew.”

“Knew what?” Donghyuck asks, almost afraid to know the answer. Whoever—or_ whatever _he’s talking to—isn’t Renjun, that’s for damn sure. He tries to remember if Chenle was like this, but can’t. 

“Born, not made,” Renjun says, and before Donghyuck can even react, he’s springing from his bed and tackling Donghyuck to the floor. Donghyuck’s hand instinctively goes to his knife, but Renjun, inhumanely strong, pins Donghyuck’s wrist under his knee, his hands circling Donghyuck’s neck, his thumbs digging into the hollow of Donghyuck’s throat. 

Donghyuck chokes and thrashes, trying to throw him, but Renjun just presses harder, snarling into Donghyuck’s face. The pupils of his eyes are bleeding outward, obscuring the whites, and black blood drips from his nose and mouth, staining his teeth and splattering on Donghyuck’s skin.

“It would be nice,” Renjun half-shouts, his eyes wild, ignoring the way Donghyuck struggles for breath, vision spotting, “if we could wipe you out right here—the one flaw in the plan, the weak spot—you were hidden for so long, so long, and we’ve been so _ patient _—” 

The door slams open. “HYUCK!” Mark yells, and then Renjun’s weight vanishes off his chest. Mark and Renjun go flying, crashing into a wheeling table and sending equipment scattering. Renjun’s mom is screaming, and then there are nurses rushing into the room followed by a whole swarm of security. Donghyuck watches dizzily as Mark punches Renjun square in the jaw, Chenle diving forward to stop him. Jisung shouts something; Jaemin hits Renjun too, and when he pulls his hand back, it’s covered in red blood. Renjun slumps to the ground, unconscious, and then there are hands, too many hands, shuffling them out of the room and then out of the hospital entirely, the security depositing them on the curb outside, and then and only then is when Donghyuck catches his breath, Mark’s arms tight around his shoulders. 

“I felt something,” Mark says. Donghyuck hooks his chin over Mark’s shoulder and closes his eyes, trying to fight back the quivering, shaky feeling. “The danger sense. But I ignored it, and—” 

“Please don’t blame yourself,” Donghyuck interrupts without opening his eyes. “It was my fault. He was just so strong and fast. I couldn’t—I was taken by surprise, and I didn’t want to hurt him.” 

“Let me look at your neck,” Jeno says tiredly, and Donghyuck peels out of Mark’s hug so Jeno can pull his collar down and gingerly inspect the bruise already forming on Donghyuck’s throat. “Can you breathe okay right now?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Renjun could’ve crushed your windpipe,” Jeno says, and drops his hands. “But it doesn’t look like that.” 

“This fucking sucks,” Jaemin says from where he’s sitting on the curb, his chin in his hands. “I can’t believe we just beat the shit out of Renjun. After _ he _tried to beat the shit out of Donghyuck.” 

“He should be okay now,” Chenle says. “Right? I mean, I was.” 

“Did he say anything to you, Donghyuck?” Jaemin asks. “He was saying some pretty strange things when Mark and I got to him.” 

Donghyuck hesitates, not sure if they’re going to believe him, or even have a guess as to what it means. 

But Mark looks at him with concern and curiosity, and Donghyuck feels the aftershocks of this morning again, hovering in the air between them. So he exhales and tells them what Renjun—but clearly _ not _Renjun—had said. 

“_Born? _” Jaemin asks when Donghyuck is done. “The fuck does that mean?” 

“No idea,” Donghyuck says. “I mean, of course I was born? Duh? We haven’t figured out how to _ make _humans yet.” 

“Unless he meant, like, making babies,” Jisung says, giggling. Chenle shoves him. 

“Donghyuck is not ready to be a dad,” Jeno disagrees, shaking his head. “Can you imagine him having to take responsibility for anything?” 

“Ouch,” Donghyuck deadpans. “Why are you guys always ganging up on me?” 

“Because you’re a jackass and a little bitch,” Jaemin replies without missing a beat. “Anyway, can we get back to not-Renjun? What was he doing, predicting the future?” 

“Yeah, why are they trying to kill _ me? _” Donghyuck asks. “Why not Taeil, or someone more threatening?” 

They toss answers around for a couple minutes—maybe they’re trying to kill _ everyone _ with superpowers? Or maybe Donghyuck was secretly bitten by a zombie-demon before? Maybe whoever’s in charge _ wants _ Donghyuck to be a zombie-demon, because then they’d _ really _ be able to fuck shit up? Or maybe…it’s all just a joke and someone’s about to jump out and go _ sike, _and the cameras will stop rolling? 

Eventually they decide it’s probably none of the above. Donghyuck flops against Mark and stares up at the sky, which is completely covered with clouds by now. 

Jisung sighs. “This sucks.” 

“That seems to be the general consensus,” Donghyuck says. Mark pats him consolingly on the head, and Donghyuck ignores the fuzzy spark of warmth in his chest. He hopes this means they’re going back to normal. He wants to talk about this morning—but there’s a significant part of him that’s relieved that they get to put it off. That he doesn’t have to do it on the sidewalk smelling like smoke and hangover. 

But with no communication comes a strange murkiness. Something’s changed. He’s sure of it, can feel it tickling the back of his mind. He can’t put his finger on any specifics, not yet—though maybe it has to do with that look in Mark’s eyes or the hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder or the way his knees tilt towards Donghyuck, like a compass pointing north—

Or maybe (most likely) Donghyuck is imagining and overdramatizing it all. His friendship with Mark has been so steady, so dependable that it almost feels like it _ can’t _change. Maybe (most likely!) those habits have been there the whole time and Donghyuck is just now noticing because they kissed once. 

Or twice. Maybe three times. Donghyuck still can’t remember anything. 

“…and meanwhile, Mark’s stopped valuing his body and health completely, did you _ see _him dive head-first at Renjun—” Jaemin is saying. 

“Holy shit, yeah,” Jisung answers, eyes wide. “I got a concussion just from watching him!” He turns to Mark, curious. “Do you just…have no fear? Because you know you’re unbreakable?” 

“I mean, I know I’m gonna be fine,” Mark says, “but generally I try to avoid dying. That’s pretty uncomfortable.” 

“_Uncomfortable,_” Jisung echoes, amazed. “Imagine death being…_uncomfortable. _And that’s it.” 

“A mild inconvenience,” Chenle adds. “A tiny hiccup.” 

Mark’s cheeks are turning pink, and Donghyuck joins in as their friends laugh, slinging an arm around Mark’s shoulders. 

“Boys?” someone says behind them. Donghyuck drops his arm, and their laughter fades. 

They all turn to see Renjun’s mom hovering by the revolving doors, pulling her coat against the wind, which is picking up. 

“Is Renjun alright?” Jaemin asks cautiously. “We didn’t mean to hurt him. It’s just—Chenle here also got bitten, and he was fixed after he got hit a couple times.” 

Mrs. Huang gives them a pained smile. “As violent as it was…yes, he’s better now. Out cold—” she gives Mark a pointed look, and Mark shrinks into Donghyuck’s side a bit, “—but he should be awake in a few hours. No major injuries were sustained. The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery.” 

They all release a collective sigh of relief. Jaemin nudges Jeno, who looks like he’s about to cry. “Thank you so much,” Jeno says. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there—” 

Mrs. Huang holds up a hand. “I don’t blame you, Jeno,” she says gently. “And neither will Renjun. You’re a good man. Renjun’s very lucky to have you all as friends.” 

Jeno gets to his feet, stumbling a little, and Mrs. Huang catches him in a ferocious hug. Jeno’s been friends with Renjun the longest—since middle school, and even through high school despite Renjun moving cities for those four years—and Donghyuck can’t fathom the weight of his relief. 

“Chenle, the doctors want to talk to you,” Mrs. Huang says when Jeno pulls away. 

“Ah, okay,” Chenle says, looking hesitant. “I don’t remember much from when I was bitten, besides, like, the pull. Like I was being told to do stuff.” 

Mrs. Huang’s expression grows worried again. “Okay,” she says. “I’m sure they’d like to hear that.” 

Jaemin puts a hand on Chenle’s shoulder. “Did you call your aunts?” he asks. “Or do you want me to stay and drive you back?” 

“They know I’m here,” Chenle says. “Jia’s working, so Freya’s coming right now.” 

“Don’t tell her the whole story,” Jaemin says. “She’s the paranoid one, right? That tried to get the whole missings-person report sent out when you got bitten?” 

“I’m definitely not telling Freya the whole story,” Chenle agrees. “She mostly just wants to confirm that I’m alright.” 

The first drops of rain begin to fall, spattering on the pavement, and they all get to their feet, shifting uneasily. 

_ Where do we go from here? _ they all seem to be thinking. Normally, this is where Renjun would step in and ask, _ okay, what’s the game plan, _and everyone would be on their way with promises to rendezvous in the morning, or maybe a few hours. 

The hole where Renjun’s supposed to be throbs emptily as they stumble through awkward goodbyes. Jaemin and Jeno say they’re going to smoke and head towards the parking lot, and Chenle follows Mrs. Huang back into the hospital apprehensively. 

Mark and Donghyuck look at each other. 

“What do we do now?” Donghyuck asks. “What _ can _we do? We know nothing about anything.” 

“I think your philosophy class is getting to your head,” Mark says, tapping Donghyuck on the forehead. “We know some stuff.” 

“Like what,” Donghyuck demands. 

“Uh,” Mark says, looking around him. “The sky is blue?” 

“Fucking _ false_,” Donghyuck huffs. “It’s _ grey. _Because it’s raining.” 

Mark opens his mouth, and Donghyuck can _ feel _the laughter in his voice before the words are even out. Luckily, before Mark says something dumb and Donghyuck is forced to break his nose—or kiss him—Jisung interrupts. 

“Okay, wait,” Jisung says. “I may or may not…have something. That may help.” 

Donghyuck wheels on Jisung. “You may have _ what? _” 

“Please don’t hurt me,” Jisung says. “Mark, is he gonna—” 

Mark puts a hand on the back of Donghyuck’s neck, and Donghyuck’s body betrays him by relaxing into the touch. “What do you have, Jisung?” 

Jisung exhales and looks up at the sky. “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he says. “It’ll be easier to show you.” 

* * *

“Okay, so, please don’t be mad,” Jisung starts, after they’ve taken cover from the rain in a tiny grocery-store Starbucks, “because we don’t have the time for you to be dramatic—” 

“I’ll decide that,” Donghyuck interrupts. Jisung shoots him a look—he’s genuinely worried about this, Donghyuck notices with a fair amount of guilt. 

“Okay, okay,” he amends. “I’m not gonna be mad. Just tell us.” 

Jisung takes a deep breath. “So, first off, I do delivery jobs for Kun—” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth. Mark puts a hand on his back. Donghyuck closes his mouth. 

“And there was this one laptop,” Jisung continues, giving Donghyuck another uneasy look. “That Kun had me deliver.” 

_ THE LAPTOP FROM BEFORE? _Donghyuck would’ve interrupted, but he’s too busy short-circuiting, because Mark’s hand is still on his back. 

“Anyways, when I showed up, he actually told me about it,” Jisung says, “which is weird, because he’s normally so secretive about that. I think he told me because he wanted you guys to know, maybe.” 

“Sounds twisty and indirect,” Mark comments. 

“He’s a twisty and indirect sorta dude,” Jisung agrees. “The point is, the laptop had some files, pictures and such that suggested that Macroshot—you know, the tech company—might have been behind all the prison breaks.” 

Grim silence descends over their table, the bustle of the shoppers and coffee-drinkers cutting through the stunned static in Donghyuck’s brain. 

Mark is first to speak. “How?” 

Jisung, much to Donghyuck’s dismay, shrugs. “I don’t know the specifics,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with that answer. “Kun didn’t say. All he told me was that Macroshot was behind it, and I had to get the laptop delivered.” 

“_Why _would they do that?” Donghyuck asks, and Jisung shrugs again. 

“I honestly couldn’t say,” Jisung says. “I mean, if this gets out, it’ll ruin them. And I don’t even know if it was one guy who worked for Macroshot, or, like, the whole company is in on it and everyone who works there is evil.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the latter,” Donghyuck says. “Fuck. We need to tell Jaemin and them all about this as soon as possible—” 

“Okay, so, about that,” Jisung starts, but Donghyuck puts the pieces together first. 

“You _ told them already? _” Donghyuck shouts, drawing the attention of several passersby. 

“Dude, shut up,” Jisung says worriedly, and Mark squeezes Donghyuck’s shoulder, which mollifies him enough to sit back in his seat and glare. “_ No, _ I didn’t tell them. Well, I did—but only because Jeno sort of put it together and confronted me about it. And whatever Jeno knows, Jaemin knows, and if Jaemin knows, then pretty much everybody _ else _ knows.” 

“Then how come _ we _didn’t?” Mark asks, sounding a little hurt. 

“It was Renjun’s idea, mostly,” Jisung says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “We mostly wanted to keep it from you, Donghyuck. We were all worried about you going over the edge—we didn’t want to push you into going after these guys, or trying to find answers while you were still hurt. Plus, um…you had that whole week.” 

“I’m calling it the Worst Week of My Life,” Donghyuck says. 

“Why was it—” Mark starts. 

“Things Donghyuck and Mark don’t have to talk about,” Donghyuck says quickly. “Please. Not now.” 

“Okay,” Mark says quietly. “But I’d like to hear it eventually.” 

“Maybe,” Donghyuck says evasively. “It’s really embarrassing.” He turns back to Jisung. “Okay, I get why you guys did that, but it’s fucked-up anyway and you know that. You shouldn’t keep secrets from your friends.” 

Jisung’s cheeks turn pink and his eyes widen at the bald honesty in Donghyuck’s voice. “I’m literally paid to do just that,” he says, flustered. “But, uh, yeah. It was messed up. I’m sorry, you guys. I really am. If the rest of them were here, they’d apologize too. We were just worried about you. About you both,” he says, nodding at Mark. 

Mark crosses his arms a little defensively, and Donghyuck turns to look at him, curious. He’d been so stuck in his own shitshow he hadn’t even thought to ask if _ Mark _ was doing okay. God, they’re a vigilante _ duo. _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _ This is why Mark will never like you back, _ he scolds himself. _ Pull yourself together, jackass. _

“We can talk about that later, too,” Mark says, reading Donghyuck’s mind. “Don’t worry. I’m okay now.” 

“I’m always worried,” Donghyuck says, “because it’s you.” 

Mark blinks at him, and Donghyuck winces. He hadn’t intended to be so straightforward—or so cheesy. In a grocery store, too, and _ right _in front of Jisung.

“Oh, for the love of god,” Jisung mutters. “Get a grip. You’re both dumbasses.” 

“Do not even think about it,” Donghyuck says instantly, pointing a finger in Jisung’s face. “Bastard.” 

Jisung rolls his eyes. “You go from sweet to threatening so quickly, it’s a little worrisome.” 

“Whatever, fuck you,” Donghyuck scoffs, leaning back in his chair. Next to him, Mark stifles a laugh, and Donghyuck feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. 

“Don’t _ encourage _him!” Jisung says, offended. “You’re both awful, but together, you guys are something else—” 

Donghyuck’s phone interrupts him by buzzing loudly from where it sits face-down on the table. Donghyuck turns it over, assuming it’s Jaemin or maybe Chenle with an update, but instead, it’s from a number that’s only gotten him into trouble: 

“It’s Ten,” Donghyuck says blankly. 

“What the fuck?” Mark asks, leaning over to check the caller ID. 

_ Incoming call from: Ten (dead guy dude) _

“What do I do?” Donghyuck asks, looking between the phone and his friends. 

“I don’t know, answer it?” Mark offers, and Donghyuck hits the green _ accept _button. 

“If he asks us to stop another prison break, I’m saying no,” Donghyuck says, and lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Donghyuck?” says Ten. Except it’s definitely not Ten—it’s _ Kun, _for some bizarre reason. 

_ It’s Kun, _he mouths, pointing at the phone. 

_ WHAT THE HELL, _Mark mouths back. 

“You’re not Ten,” Donghyuck replies dumbly. 

“No, I’m not,” Kun says, “but I didn’t have your number. I just heard about your friend. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“They said he’ll be okay,” Donghyuck says. “But thanks, anyway.” 

_ What’s he saying? _Jisung mouths as they both lean in closer to Donghyuck, trying to overhear. 

“Look, I don’t know how much you might’ve heard from Jisung,” Kun says, “and believe me, I’d rather have it any other way. But we’re a little desperate.” 

“Wait wait wait,” Donghyuck says, “first off, who’s _ we? _ And second off, are you asking for our _ help? _” 

A long beat of silence. Donghyuck senses that Kun is struggling with his pride, and feels a little smug. _ Oh how the tables have turned, _Donghyuck thinks. 

“Yes,” Kun says at last. “We need your help.” 

* * *

Kun gives them a location, and the three of them take the train a few stops. Donghyuck texts the group chat, but Chenle’s been trapped at home by his aunts, and Jaemin says he and Jeno are both far too stoned to move right now. All three of them request updates, however, and Mark says (with only a little sarcasm) that he’ll take notes. 

They get off the train, reading street signs and following the map on Donghyuck’s phone. They’re out of the university district and into downtown—the buildings soar over their heads, and the streets slope down towards the ocean, where the multi-million dollar houses sit with their green lawns and perfect crabapple trees. 

“Where are we even going?” Mark asks, looking around him. “What’s today? Saturday? Why are we downtown? Everything’s closed.” 

“Maybe Kun secretly lives in a penthouse,” Donghyuck guesses. 

“What, where he’d be recognized by a doorman? In an area with a billion security cameras?” Jisung says, shaking his head. “No way. I’m guessing this is someone in the _ we _that Kun mentioned.” 

“I wonder who it could be,” Mark says. “The cops?” 

“The mafia? I know Ten worked for them for a bit,” Donghyuck suggests. 

“Oh, shit, the _ mafia? _ ” Mark says, laughing. “No _ way. _I bet it’s another Macroshot ex-employee.” 

“Maybe a _ spy, _” Donghyuck says, getting excited. “I bet Kun has tons of people on the inside, reporting back to him.” 

“You can ask him in a bit,” Jisung interrupts, “because we’re here.” 

They’ve stopped in front of a modern-looking set of townhouses, all creamy stone and wide, curved windows. The cars parked in all the driveways gleam expensively. The sign in front informs them that these are the Brooke Street Apartments. 

“Whoa,” Mark says. “This is _ fancy._” 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Donghyuck asks, double-checking his phone. “Just kidding, it’s definitely the right place.” 

“Text him,” Mark suggests. “Tell him we’re out front. There’s definitely security cameras, and I don’t want to get into any fights because we look like coal miners.” 

“We don’t look like coal miners,” Donghyuck says, tugging on Mark’s jacket, the one with the super-glued sleeve. “Coal miners don’t wear Patagonia, Mark.” 

“I mean, I was talking more about the fact that we spent all morning duking it out with yet another guy on fire and a couple zombie-demons,” Mark says mildly, “but I guess you’re right, too. Text Kun.” 

Donghyuck does, still under Ten’s number, and Ten texts back: _ Kun says just hit the buzzer for unit 312. Nobody’s gonna call the cops. _

“Are you sure?” Jisung asks dubiously, raising his eyebrows. 

“Only one way to find out,” Donghyuck says. “Which one’s 312?” 

“Uh, that one,” Jisung says, pointing a little ways down the sidewalk. Number 312 looks just the same as the rest of them—stone steps, big front window, nice car parked in the driveway. 

They stop at the bottom steps, looking up at the house. Donghyuck wonders what they’ve gotten themselves into. 

“For some reason,” Jisung says into the stillness, “I’m nervous.” 

“For some reason,” Mark echoes, “I am too.” 

“Me three,” Donghyuck adds, and it’s true—the butterflies ricocheting around in his stomach have made him vaguely nauseated. “Are we ready?” 

“I guess we gotta be,” Jisung says, and they walk up the steps. Jisung presses the buzzer, and they only have to wait a few seconds before there’s the sound of footsteps on the other side. Then the door is opening, and the person standing behind it isn’t Kun or Ten—it’s Taeil Moon, looking a little battered and wearing a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t look surprised in the slightest to see them. 

“Twofold?” Mark half-shouts before any of them can say anything. “This is _ your _ house?” 

“You’re _ working _ with Kun?” Jisung asks.

“Why the hell do _ you _ need our help?” Donghyuck demands, crossing his arms. “Didn’t you ban us from being helpful?” 

Taeil heaves such a massive sigh that the anger-hurt-betrayal flame in Donghyuck’s chest flickers a bit. (But only a bit!) “Come inside, you three,” he says, standing to the side and opening the door wider. 

Donghyuck stomps past him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jisung give Mark a wide-eyed look. 

Kun and Ten are sitting on the couch, and Donghyuck points at Kun. 

“We’re not agreeing to anything until you tell us what the hell is going on,” Donghyuck says. “How long have you guys been working together? Since when we first met?” 

“Donghyuck—“ Ten starts placatingly, but Donghyuck sets his jaw. Kun puts a gentle hand on Ten’s shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” he says. “If we want their help, the least we can do is offer an explanation.” 

“You better,” Donghyuck says. Kun looks over at Taeil, who’s got his hands in his hoodie pocket, a guilty expression on his face. 

“Taeil and I have worked together for almost five years,” Kun says. “At first, it was because the police needed my help, and then because we became friends.” 

“Why?” 

Kun shrugged. “It was mutually beneficial. I had tech, he had information. We wanted to keep our sides of the city safe.” 

“It’s always been about keeping people safe,” Taeil interrupts gently. “I hope you know that, Donghyuck. I know I hurt your feelings. You have every right to be mad at me, too. And I understand if you don’t want to help. But we sent you those chestplates—“ 

“Oh my god,” Jisung says, “that was _ you _?” He squints at Kun. “I knew you weren’t behind that job.” 

Kun shrugs. “I made them for Taeil. I was as surprised as you were when they ended up being for a couple of teenage vigilantes.” 

“I’m twenty,” Mark mumbles, but Donghyuck elbows him. He’s still pissed-off, and far from being done with his questions. 

“You helped us?” Donghyuck asks. “Why?” 

“I knew I wouldn’t be able to just stop you,” Taeil says, and another wave of guilt crosses his face, “so I tried to help—“ 

“You did a damn good job this last time,” Donghyuck spits. “Do you know how useless I felt? How fucking close I walked that line? Did you even think about that?”

Mark catches him by the wrist, a warning, but Donghyuck throws him off so aggressively he loses his balance, arm wrenching awfully in his socket. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Mark says, rubbing his shoulder. “Donghyuck, the super-strength—“

It’s almost funny how quickly Donghyuck changes tracks, all the anger fleeing his body in a half second, replaced by freezing guilt.

“Are you alright?” Donghyuck asks, hurrying close. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—“ 

“No, it’s fine,” Mark says immediately, lifting his arm. “Nothing broken. It’s fine.” 

“I really didn’t mean it,” Donghyuck says. “I was just—I wasn’t thinking. I forgot that Kun cancels your powers.” 

“It’s okay, Hyuck,” Mark says, quieter but still steady. He puts his hands on Donghyuck’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath.” 

Donghyuck does, and feels a little better. “I’m sorry,” he says, swallowing back an unexpected rush of emotion that prickles at his eyes. “I’m trying to be better about that.” 

“I know,” Mark says, and Donghyuck knows he knows. It doesn’t make it any better, though. 

“Donghyuck,” Ten says curiously, “are your abilities not canceled by Kun’s powers?” 

“What?” Taeil asks. Even Jisung, who’d been talking with Kun, stops. 

“Um,” Donghyuck says, “…no?” 

“Really?” Taeil asks, brow furrowing. “Not even dimmed?” 

“No,” Donghyuck says slowly, doing a quick check. Everything feels normal, just as it did last time he’d met with Kun. But he hadn’t mentioned it then—it’d seemed unimportant. Strange, for sure, but not necessarily related to the topic at hand, which had been Mark’s danger sense and the trackers in the chest plates.

“Do you remember when you got your abilities?” Kun asks. “If you don’t mind.” 

Donghyuck frowns, trying to remember if there’d been a time like that. Chenle, Taeil—even Ten—all of them had had moments where their powers suddenly burst into existence, whatever mutated gene that made them different suddenly activating. 

“If I did,” Donghyuck says, “I can’t remember. Mya—the woman who raised me—always said they were a gift.” And a curse, he doesn’t add, watching nervously as Ten, Kun, and Taeil share a look. “Why?” he asks, unable to help himself. “Am I in trouble? Is that bad?” 

“No,” Kun says firmly. “It’s just…unusual, is all. I’ve never met anybody whose abilities weren’t nullified by mine.” He waves a hand, brushing the topic aside. “It’s unimportant, though. What matters is why we need your help.” He stands, offering a hand to Ten thoughtlessly. Donghyuck’s heart aches at the motion, and he wonders how they got to that point, over the gap. Maybe it was easier for them, without a two-year friendship to navigate through. 

Taeil pulls him and Mark aside as Kun leads the rest of them into the kitchen. “I just wanted to apologize,” Taeil says. “I don’t want you to be angry at Kun. It was all my idea. I mean, the police supported it, but. I didn’t think about the impact it had on you both.” He breathes out unsteadily, and the superhero facade falls away, leaving a very tired young man with a lot of grief on his shoulders. “I don’t know what I would do if someone told me I couldn’t do my job anymore.” 

The last of Donghyuck’s anger vanishes, guttering like a small flame in a windstorm. “It’s okay,” he says. “I overreacted.” 

“I forgive you too,” Mark says. “We both struggled with it. But I know you were just trying to keep us safe.” 

Taeil exhales, and it seems like a weight has slipped from him. “Thank you so much,” he says. “Really. It means a lot.” He pauses a moment, looking between Mark and Donghyuck. “Does this mean you’ll help?” 

“Depends,” Donghyuck says. 

“On what?” 

“On how much fun it is.” 

* * *

“Oh, this is gonna be a ton of fun,” Ten reassures them a few minutes later, when they’re all sitting at the kitchen table. “Don’t worry.” 

“It’s not supposed to be _ fun_,” Kun says. “It’s dangerous.” 

“Can we just hear it?” Jisung asks, crossing his arms. “I really want to take a nap. I’m still hungover.” 

Kun clears his throat. “You know that Macroshot is behind the prison breaks, right?” 

“Yup,” Donghyuck says. “Jisung dropped _ that _particular bombshell on us a couple minutes ago.” 

“Good, that makes this next part easier to explain,” Kun says. “Anyway, we have it on good authority that it wasn’t just Macroshot, it was the CEO.” He hits the spacebar on the laptop in front of him a few times and turns it around, showing a picture of a man in his late forties, his hair grey and sporting a neatly-trimmed beard. “Christian Vanderfelt.” 

“The _ CEO? _ What is this, a comic book? A movie? Capitalism was the enemy all along?” Donghyuck asks, leaning back in his chair. 

“Not necessarily,” Kun says, and pauses. For dramatic effect or otherwise, Donghyuck doesn’t know, but the whole room feels like it’s holding its breath. 

“We think Vanderfelt’s being blackmailed,” Kun says at last, the words ringing out into the tense silence. 

“We’re talking about the same guy, right?” Mark asks. “Billionaire-tech-company Vanderfelt, not some other dude?” 

“The one and only,” Kun says grimly. “I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, but we think the prisons were unlocked so they could test a form of the goo-disease—the big one that took Donghyuck out at the prison before he got hurt. But Macroshot—and Vanderfelt—has no history with any companies or people that do this kind of stuff. It does more harm than good to the company’s rep, to Vanderfelt’s name.”

Taeil sits up. “There’s no reason or logic behind _ any _of it,” he continues. “Which, for a guy like Vanderfelt, doesn’t really make much sense.” 

“So…you think it’s blackmail, then,” Jisung says. 

“And you’re telling us this for what reason?” Donghyuck says. “We’re not cops. We can’t investigate. We’re just a bunch of kids.” 

“We don’t have any evidence,” Kun says. “Just some speculation and Taeil’s hunch. The police won’t open a case based on that, not when the city’s slowly being overrun by zombie-demons.” 

“Can’t you just hack him?” Mark asks. “Isn’t that your whole thing?” 

“You’re forgetting that this dude literally founded a _ security tech company_,” Kun reminds them. “It’s not that simple. Besides, there’s a chance it’s not digital at all.” 

A few pieces click for Donghyuck, especially when he sees Taeil shift uncomfortably in his seat, looking guilty again. 

“You can’t go either, can you?” Donghyuck asks quietly. “Because you’re basically the police, and what Kun’s talking about is _ big-time _illegal.” 

Taeil’s mouth quirks. “If I could go, I’d go in a second,” he says, and Donghyuck can tell he means it. “I want this whole thing over and done with. I want a cure. Whatever’s infecting people is getting worse. We had a few of those things…self-destruct earlier today. It looked like they were short-circuiting—their blood vessels burst beneath their skin, and—” he breaks off with a shudder. “But yeah, to put it simply—I can’t go and dig through Christian Vanderfelt’s penthouse, because I’m a cop, and I’m needed elsewhere.” 

“So you want us to just…break into Vanderfelt’s super-fortified tech lair and _ steal _his private information?” Jisung asks. 

“Well, it’s a little bit more complicated—” Kun starts, and Ten rolls his eyes. But it’s Taeil who cuts him off with a simple nod, honest and straightforward. 

Donghyuck looks at Mark, and they both look at Jisung. It’s not a matter of debate—the answer has been a resounding _ yes _ since Kun first called him—but now it’s an enthusiastic, terrified _ yes. _

“We’ll help,” Mark says, and Donghyuck slowly puts all four legs of his chair back on the ground.

Kun nods, already typing away at his computer. “Thank god,” he says. “Okay. Good. Well, we don’t have much time, and even though I’d rather all seven of you were here—” 

“Whoa, wait, all _ seven_?” Donghyuck asks. “This is a team mission?” 

“What, you thought you were gonna climb the side of Vanderfelt’s penthouse with a grappling hook?” Kun asks without looking up from his laptop. 

“Well, kinda,” Donghyuck says. “But actually, I’m really glad everyone’s gonna be in it. I was just about to ask.” 

Jisung shoots him a grateful look, and Donghyuck winks. He’d felt the yearning rolling off of Jisung in waves—which makes sense, since a chance like this is literally one-in-a-billion. 

“Vanderfelt will be hosting a charity gala one week from now,” Kun says, squinting at his computer. “It’ll be easy enough to get a few of you invitations. The three of us can’t go, since we’ll be recognized—but we’ll set it up to make it as easy as possible for you. The building it’ll be in is just down the block from Vanderfelt’s apartment.” He looks over to Ten. “What am I forgetting? There’s a question—”

“The teleporting friend,” Ten fills in. “You’ve got one, right?” 

Jisung nods. “Chenle. But it’s not like Taeil. He can just, uh, shadow-step.” 

“That’ll work,” Taeil says, giving Jisung a thumbs-up. “He’ll be there just in case security gets to you before you can get out of Vanderfelt’s penthouse.” 

“I can disable the security systems long enough for you to go up and down the elevator unseen,” Kun says. “But I won’t have eyes in the lobby or the charity event while I do it, so that’s why you’ll need your friends there—to watch, and to distract. They’ll give you time, too, while you get the necessary evidence.” 

Donghyuck’s head is spinning, but only a little. His excitement keeps him focused, a renewed sense of purpose slowly returning to him. He forgot how nice it was to feel _ useful, _to feel like he has purpose. 

Kun finishes outlining the plan, promising to send a whole file with all the details a little later so they could talk to their friends. 

“And you’re sure they’re gonna be on board?” 

“Oh, absolutely,” Mark says without missing a beat. “They’re gonna be _ thrilled._” 

“It’s dangerous,” Kun reminds them. “We really hate having to ask you to do this.” 

“Mostly because they wanted to do it themselves,” Ten chimes in, and Kun scowls. Taeil just laughs, a little abashed, but doesn’t try to deny it. 

Ten walks them to the door. “They’ll keep in touch,” he says. “Don’t worry. We’re not just gonna throw you guys in there and let you figure it out, as fun as that would be.” 

“Glad we could help,” Mark says, and _ of course _he means it. He and Jisung head down the front steps, but Donghyuck hovers for a second, a question on the tip of his tongue. Ten’s absolutely going to laugh at him if he asks it, but at the same time, he’s in such deep shit, stuck between a rock and a hard place with no idea how to get out. 

Ten watches him bemusedly while he struggles. “Better hurry,” he says. “Your friends are waiting.” 

“I’m in love with Mark,” Donghyuck blurts, and then claps a hand over his mouth. _ That’s _certainly getting easier to say, he realizes with a fair amount of terror. 

“Yes,” Ten says. “I know. You lean towards him without thinking, did you know? Like a magnet. It’s pretty cute. But I’m guessing you want to know how to make him like you back?” 

“No, it’s not that,” Donghyuck says. Behind him, on the sidewalk, Jisung calls his name. “Just a sec!” he shouts, and turns back to Ten, bouncing on his heels. “I think—something changed between us. Recently. And I think maybe—I maybe have a chance. With him. I just don’t know how to get us past the just-friends part.” 

Ten, fortunately, does not laugh. “It’s tricky,” he says, “especially when you’re that close. How do you make it feel like something other than friends-who-kiss, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Donghyuck, dude, come on,” Jisung says. 

“You kiss him again,” Ten suggests, like it’s just that simple. And maybe it is. Maybe Donghyuck is just making this a hundred thousand times more difficult for himself. “And when all of this is over, you ask him out on a date. And you talk it through, and you figure it out.” 

“I have to ask him _ out?” _

“Or he asks you out,” Ten says, misreading the blank panic in Donghyuck’s voice. “You don’t have to _ stop _being friends with him, Hyuck. You just have to figure out how to realign the pieces to fit in this new part of your relationship.” 

Jisung threatens to leave, and Donghyuck starts down the steps towards them. “That didn’t really help, but also, it sort of did!” Donghyuck shouts at Ten. “Thanks!” 

“No worries,” Ten says, and his bemused smile is back. “You’ve got this, Hyuck. I brought Mark back from the dead for that cheap because I believe in you!” 

It might’ve been the nicest thing a real grown-up person has ever said to him, besides his philosophy teacher leaving a comment on his essay (essentially just a formally-written roast) on why Heather Dupain burning all her work was a cop-out and a cowardly thing to do. Burning makes nothing go away. It only makes the surface problem vanish, leaving all the roots underneath. And Donghyuck knows from experience how persistent those roots can be. 

He misses the last step, crashing into Mark and about hitting him in the jaw. Jisung swears, trips over the curb, and smacks Donghyuck on the back of the head. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jisung huffs. “Do you have to be so dramatic all the time?” 

“You made it,” Mark says, grinning so wide Donghyuck can see the dimples in his cheeks. His heart flutters at the sight—and he lets it. “Jisung was about to leave you there.”

“I always make it,” Donghyuck replies, propping his arm on Mark’s shoulders. “You know me.” 

“Yeah,” Mark says with a rare sort of affection, the kind that makes Donghyuck’s heart fly into his throat. “I do.” 

* * *

They’re all gathered at Mark and Jeno’s apartment less than an hour later, sifting through the file Kun sent them. As Donghyuck predicted, Chenle, Jaemin and Jeno agree to help before they even know the details. 

Despite the enthusiasm, though, they don’t get very far into planning. Jeno and Jaemin are both stoned, so they’re giggly and mostly useless; Chenle’s aunts have given him a curfew, so he leaves by the time dinner rolls around. 

Exhaustion finally catches up to Donghyuck as he’s eating the ramen Mark’s made for all of them, and all of a sudden it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open. His legs and feet ache from all the running and standing he’s done today—he’s out-of-shape because of his ribs, and he’s not looking forward to the soreness he’ll wake up with tomorrow morning. 

“You alright?” Mark asks, looking away from the TV. “That was a big sigh.” 

“I’m exhausted all of a sudden,” Donghyuck says, rubbing his eyes. “I want a shower and I want my bed.” 

“Do you want me to walk with you back to the dorm?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck shakes his head. 

“I’ll get there eventually,” Donghyuck says. “Your couch is so comfy, though. I could fall asleep here in about two seconds if I wanted to.” 

“You have before,” Mark reminds him, and Donghyuck laughs. “Honestly, I might have to sleep out here, because I still have to fix my window. I just have a plastic sheet and some cardboard over it right now.” 

Donghyuck hums, letting his eyes close for a half second before sitting up again. “I feel bad for getting mad at Taeil,” he says. “Do you think I overreacted?”

“No,” Mark says. “I don’t think so. It _ did _suck, not being able to run around the city and help people. I mean, I’m only the sidekick—” 

“Shut up, no you’re not,” Donghyuck says fiercely. Mark just shrugs, and Donghyuck’s mouth drops open when he realizes Mark’s not really joking. “_ Mark. _You think you’re the sidekick?” 

“I mean,” Mark says again, helplessly. “Yeah? You’re the one with the sword and the powers. All I do is crack jokes and pull you out of danger.” 

“You’re _ not _the sidekick,” Donghyuck says. “You’re the only reason I’m in this. Without you, I’d be—I’d be—” 

_ Lost. Drowning. Upside-down, on-fucking-fire, a bit bloodier, and a lot more alone. _

Mark doesn’t push Donghyuck to finish the sentence, and Donghyuck suddenly craves the _ before_—Arsenic, maybe, or Silver Slipper, tossing Mark through windows, running from the cops. Simpler. Less messy, less emotional. The stakes were lower, they hadn’t kissed, and Donghyuck could kick Mark’s ass in Jaemin’s basement without feeling like he was going to vomit or cry. 

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, and Donghyuck rolls his head to the side again so he can look at his best friend. “Remember when we fought Arsenic and you inhaled all that gas? Before you knew about my danger sense?” 

“I remember,” Donghyuck says. The memory mostly consists of the sound of the gunshot, and then the deli sandwich. “You’ve taken a lot of bullets for me.” 

“I’d take a hundred more,” Mark says easily, and Donghyuck’s heart surges beneath his ribs. 

“I would too,” Donghyuck replies. “I’d come back from the dead just for you.” 

There’s a long, introspective silence where they both listen to the rain. 

“Donghyuck?” 

“Hmm?” 

A beat. Donghyuck’s stomach twists nervously. 

“Are we…alright?” 

Donghyuck doesn’t move. Neither does Mark. 

“I hope so,” Donghyuck says tentatively. “I know last night was—I know it has potential to fuck everything up. But you mean—you’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you over something like that.” 

Mark breathes out, long and steady. “Me neither.” 

“But. Um. If, um…” 

The confession—the _ truth_—sticks in Donghyuck’s throat. He remembers what Ten said, and then remembers Renjun, and then remembers what they have to do this Friday…and realizes that he can’t say it. Not now. 

“If what?” Mark asks, and he sounds a little nervous too, for some reason. 

“If you want to talk about this more,” Donghyuck says, “when we’re not tired and the city isn’t falling apart, then I’d—I’d be down.” 

It’s as close as he’s gonna get, but it would take a _ truly _ dense person to not see the implication. The hint of _ more. _God, Donghyuck thinks he’s not reading things incorrectly. He hopes Mark isn’t going to bring Jaden up or act like a dumb block of concrete—

“That would be good, I think,” Mark says. He still sounds nervous. “I need some time to, uh, think. About things.” 

“Things,” Donghyuck echoes, feeling the tiny ember of hope flicker. “Right.” 

“But we’re cool, we’re good,” Mark adds quickly. “This isn’t gonna change anything unless we…you know.” 

_ Unless we want it to, _ Donghyuck thinks. And that’s the million dollar question: _ does _ he want it to? What does that even mean? Does Mark? _ Will _Mark want things to change? It’s a little hard to believe that the most solid friendship Donghyuck has ever had could even shift an inch. 

“Sorry, that got a little weird,” Mark says, a little louder, and the conversation ends, the air shifting. Donghyuck stands up and rubs his face. 

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck says, and Mark gives him a grateful smile. “I’ve got your back, Mark Lee.” 

“I know you do,” Mark answers. “Hey, take the umbrella, okay? It’s raining pretty hard.” 

Donghyuck says his goodbyes and leaves Mark and Jeno’s apartment just before eight. His roommate is on his computer, headphones in, when he gets back to his dorm room. He doesn’t even look up when Donghyuck takes off his safety knife and sprays stain remover on the goo and blood that’s gotten on his jacket and borrowed shirt. 

The shower helps clear his head a little, but the conversation is still bouncing around in the back of his mind when he turns out the lights a few hours later. He prepares himself for an endless, anxious loop of overthinking, but as soon as he closes his eyes, everything shuts off, bit by bit, and he falls asleep not really thinking of anything at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want more info on how to help/resources, please check out the black lives matter carrd!! 
> 
> stay safe and stay healthy! 
> 
> find me here:  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
cc: [x](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


	18. above my paygrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asking a bunch of college kids to pull off a professional-level heist may be a little bit much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!! sorry for no prelude-interlude chapter, but i really wanted to focus on this!! it's a big one!! you'll see why!!! 
> 
> yes markhyuck is dumb that has been established but i hope you enjoy this part nonetheless!

The first couple days of the week to end all weeks goes by in a rush. Monday is marked by the severe amount of homework he has to get through for Stats, sitting at the kitchen table in Jaemin’s house for hours until night falls. Tuesday, Mark has to cancel on boba and sandwiches because he’s got to go to office hours, so Donghyuck goes for a run and sleeps early. Wednesday, Mark texts, and Donghyuck meets him on the hill in the middle of campus, the maple trees that line the sidewalk just starting to lose their vibrant red leaves. 

Mark is wearing a beanie and a blue-and-yellow windbreaker, zipped to his chin. His cheeks and nose are pink, and Donghyuck feels the usual push of _ kiss him!, _followed by the new sensation of awkwardness-slash-guilt-slash-confusion. That is almost enough to knock him off-balance, and he stops half a step from Mark. Normally, they’d slap hands or hug quickly, their hands a barrier between their chests. Friendly. Comfortable. Like Mark’s hand on the back of Donghyuck’s neck every now and then, or Donghyuck’s elbow propped on Mark’s shoulder. 

The skin under his eyes is dark, and his lips are chapped—the real marker that autumn has really begun. He looks tired and a little terrible, and Donghyuck soaks up the words that fall from his mouth like teardrops. Problems with his parents, Mark says. Donghyuck hasn’t heard about them in a long, long time—they moved as soon as Mark went to college. It’s better this way, he always claims, and Donghyuck walks with him and feels his pain so acutely that it nearly chokes him. 

But today was not better. Because Mark finally told them about the whole dating-boys thing and now he’s afraid they’re never going to talk to him again. 

The story comes from him in a rush—unusually somber and aching. He’d been sitting on it for a while, Donghyuck realizes. 

Mark stops in front of the fountain and exhales, blinking slowly. “Sorry,” he says. “That was a lot.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Donghyuck says. “That _ sucks, _ Mark. I can’t imagine…_I’m _the one that’s sorry. You don’t deserve that.” 

“I don’t,” Mark agrees, eyes faraway. “But that’s just how it is.” 

Donghyuck tentatively puts a hand on the back of Mark’s neck, in the same way Mark usually does for him. Mark startles at first, but he comes back to himself a little and relaxes. 

“Thanks for telling me about it,” Donghyuck says. “I’m glad you got it off your chest.” 

Mark shakes his head. “Thanks for listening. I realize…I dump a lot of shit on you.” 

“I gladly accept it,” Donghyuck says, and Mark wrinkles his nose and laughs. “No, seriously. You’re my best friend. You put up with all of _ my _ shit. It’s the least I can do.” 

“I tried to talk to Jaemin about it,” Mark says, “but he didn’t quite get it, y’know? He tried, though, which was really cool of him.” 

Sometimes Donghyuck forgets that he and Mark have matching holes in their hearts where _ good parents _are supposed to be. Mark is easygoing, and straightforward where Donghyuck is tumultuous. He’s handled his childhood traumas and his setbacks; he can acknowledge his flaws and when he’s wrong. Donghyuck—well, Donghyuck is a work in progress. A very, very rough draft. But still, he’s trying. If not for himself, then for Mark, who comes to him with his heart in his hands—a rare, special thing that makes Donghyuck feel like the luckiest guy in the world. 

“Jaemin does his best,” Donghyuck agrees. Mark nods thoughtfully, and then Donghyuck cranks his arm back and slaps Mark hard on the shoulder. Well, Mark technically sidesteps him—stupid danger sense—but it still breaks the tension. 

“Let’s go get lunch,” Donghyuck says. “I’m starving. Tell me about your day as we walk.” 

Mark looks at him strangely. “My…day?” 

Donghyuck realizes it’s a strange request, but as he said—he’s trying. A work in progress. 

“Your day,” he confirms. 

“Okay,” Mark says after a second. “Well, I visited Renjun, first off.”

“How’s he doing?” 

“Better.” Mark stops at the crosswalk, grabbing Donghyuck by the backpack before he can try to jaywalk. “Dude, you know how I feel about traffic, please don’t do that.” 

“Sorry,” Donghyuck says sheepishly, stepping away from the street. “Anyway. Renjun?” 

“He’s back with his parents,” Mark says. “Sort of like you were. He’s pissed that he won’t get to go to the charity gala, but Kun said he’ll give him all the details so he can make sure everything goes smoothly.” 

“I’ve been trying not to think about that,” Donghyuck admits. They take a right, towards their usual sandwich shop. “It makes me nervous.” 

“Nervous-bad or nervous-good?” 

“A little bit of both, I think,” Donghyuck says. “I mean, it _ is _ a heist, which is super exciting. But also, like, it’s _ real life. _We’re going to jail if we get caught.” 

They turn to lighter topics as they sit down with their sandwiches, like the fact that Halloween is soon and Chenle’s birthday is coming up. Donghyuck hopes they’ll be done with all this shit by the time November rolls around. A month is too long for _ anything, _especially a supernatural plague silently creeping through the city’s population. 

The news outlets have just caught wind of it, but it’s not a panic _ yet _—the exploding zombies Taeil had mentioned on Saturday were an outlier. Most people get infected, wander around, and then reappear a week later confused and forgetful. If they see Donghyuck, they go after him. Same old, same old. 

What not-Renjun had said to him in the hospital still dwells in the back of his mind, though. So does the fact that Kun’s powers don’t work on him.

“Are you thinking about the hospital?” Mark asks, chewing thoughtfully. 

“How—?” 

“You’ve got that look on your face.” 

“We’ve known each other for way too long,” Donghyuck mutters. “Yeah, I was thinking about the hospital. Did you tell Renjun about what he said?” 

“Not yet,” Mark said, pulling the lettuce off the second half of his sandwich and eating it first. “I know Jaemin wanted to, because Renjun will probably figure out what it means in half a second, but…he’s a little confused. And a lot guilty. So we decided to wait.” 

“I haven’t visited him yet because of that,” Donghyuck says. “I know as soon as I walk through that door, I’m gonna blurt it all out and it’ll be a disaster.” 

“I don’t think it’ll be a _ disaster_,” Mark says mildly. “Maybe just a little too much for him to handle right now. Plus, we’ve got the heist to worry about.” 

“I can’t avoid him forever,” Donghyuck says miserably. “I miss him. Maybe I’ll get Chenle or someone to go with me tomorrow.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Mark says. 

They finish their sandwiches. Mark spills cherry Coke on his pants, and Donghyuck laughs so hard at him that he gets mustard on the front of his shirt. 

Disasters, both of them. Donghyuck just hopes they can pull it together in time for Friday. 

* * *

“Announcement,” Jaemin says Thursday evening during their homework session-slash-_ Mario Kart _ tournament. “Kun has just informed me that we need, and I quote, _ outfits for the heist._” 

“Outfits,” Jisung deadpands. “Like what, a little bowtie? Tactical military gear?” 

“Jeno in a suit, Jeno in a suit,” Donghyuck chants, turning his on-screen car with his whole body and throwing a red shell at Mark, who’s playing as Yoshi. 

“Please no,” Jeno says. “If anyone tries to put me in a suit, I’ll seriously—I’ll lose my mind.” 

“Well, better start looking for it now,” Jaemin says, squinting as his phone, “because you need to wear a suit. So will Donghyuck and I—fuck, wait, I do too?” 

Jeno bursts into slightly-maniacal laughter. “Not so smug now, are you?” 

“_I_don’t care,” Donghyuck says. “Everything is more elegant and badass when it’s done in a suit. Like in _ Kingsman.” _

“We are the exact opposite of _ Kingsman_,” Mark says, crossing the finish line in second despite the barrage of shells Donghyuck tossed at him for the entire race. Jeno gets tenth, surprisingly, and Jisung beats Chenle for fifth. 

“Well, it makes me feel more badass,” Donghyuck says. “Wait, Jaemin, will I get to use my swords?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not in charge,” Jaemin says. “God, is this what Renjun has to deal with all the time? This sucks.” 

“I don’t own a suit,” Jeno says. 

“That’s fine, I do, you can use one of mine,” Jaemin says, waving him off. “You too, Donghyuck.” 

“Jesus, you have _ three _suits?” Mark asks. 

“No, I’ve got two, but I can just go buy another one, no worries,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck sighs. 

“Oh, to be rich,” he says wistfully. 

“No wonder you didn’t wanna move on campus,” Jisung says to Jaemin. “You’d have to give up your basement and the cleaning lady.” 

“He also would miss his mom too much,” Jeno teases. “He’s afraid she’s gonna adopt a new son in his place if he goes.” 

“Hey, that’s my worst fear,” Jaemin complains. “It’s not nice to make fun of it.” 

“You guys are the weirdest people I’ve met in my life,” Chenle says, a little amazed. “Seriously. I’ve never met anybody weirder.” 

“You’re going to our school when you graduate, right Chenle?” Donghyuck asks. “Jisung, you too?” 

“I have no money, so probably,” Jisung says. “Though my grades might not be good enough.”

Chenle whacks him on the shoulder. “You’ll get in for sure.” 

“No, _ you’ll _get in for sure,” Jisung retorts, making a face. “You’re pretty much a genius.” 

“Exaggeration,” Chenle says, waving him off, but his cheeks are a little pink. Jisung snorts and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. 

Jaemin doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Watch the—” 

“—the bong, yeah, I know,” Jisung finishes. “Don’t worry. Who wants to play another round?” 

“Eh, I’d rather smoke,” Jeno says. “This whole suit business is stressing me out.” 

“You sure it’s the suit and not the fact that you’re pre-med?” Donghyuck asks. 

“I can do biology and chemistry,” Jeno says, “but if you ask me how to tie a tie, I _ will _have a mental breakdown.” 

“Oh, you’re fine,” Jaemin scoffs. “I’m sure you’ll look cute.” 

The compliment is delivered honestly enough, and the back of Jeno’s neck and the tips of his ears are red as he sputters and sinks into the couch cushions. 

“I won’t,” Jeno mutters. “I’ll look dumb.” 

“I’ll look dumb too,” Donghyuck says, patting Jeno on the head. “We can look dumb together.” 

“How come only three of you need suits?” Jisung asks curiously. 

“Who knows limits?” Chenle asks, off-topic, and frowns at his math homework.

“I don’t know, but I’m at mine,” Jaemin says. “Can everyone please stop asking me questions about the heist? I don’t have the answers.” 

“Yes you do,” Mark says. “And I can help, Chenle.” 

“You’re right, Mark, I have the PDF right here,” Jaemin says. “I’m just too lazy to go through it.” 

“God, I miss Renjun,” Jisung says, even though nobody’s really listening to him. “Who put Jaemin in charge?” 

“Mark’s a great tutor, Chenle,” Donghyuck says, ignoring Jisung. “Without him I would’ve failed math _ and _biology.” 

“Wait, Jisung, did you just insult my leadership abilities?” Jaemin demands. “I have all the facts right here! You just have to ask!” 

“I did!” Jisung protests. “That’s _ literally _what just happened!” 

“—okay, you just need to plug two into _ x _and solve,” Mark says, scooting over to Chenle, who looks like he’s about to cry. 

“I know _ that,_” Chenle says, “but we’re learning about the Squeeze Theorem and I can’t—I don’t know—” 

“Jaemin, where’s your grinder,” Jeno says, sticking his hand in the couch cushion. 

“Jaemin, can you _ please _tell us why we need suits,” Jisung asks at the same time. 

Jaemin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. “Too many conversations happening at once,” he mutters, and Donghyuck snorts. “My grinder’s in my bedroom, Jeno, and Jisung, we need suits because we need to get the key to Vanderfelt’s office.” 

Jeno sighs and gets up from the couch. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Why can’t we just break in?” Donghyuck asks. 

“And besides, didn’t Kun say all the doors and such will be taken care of?” Jisung adds. 

Jaemin looks down at his phone. “He says we won’t have to worry about security cameras, but Vanderfelt is the only one with a copy of his office key. We can’t break in because we don’t want them to know we were in there, dumbass.” 

“Oh,” Donghyuck says. He thinks about it for a second. “I guess that makes sense.” 

“Not being seen is literally the point of this,” Jaemin reminds him. “So you, me, and Jeno will be at the party—you’ll steal the key—Jeno and I will stay to watch Mr. Vanderfelt—” 

“Where do I come in?” Jisung asks. “Do _ I _ get to karate-chop anybody?” 

“First off, leave the karate-chopping to Donghyuck,” Jaemin says, “and secondly, you’re on guard in the lobby of Mr. Vanderfelt’s penthouse, looking for security guards and stuff like that.” 

Jisung looks a little put-out. “Why can’t I do something cool?” 

“You _ are _doing something cool,” Jaemin enthuses. “You’re the last line of defense. If everything goes wrong, it’s down to you to give Hyuck and Mark as much time as possible.” 

Jisung looks satisfied with that for a couple seconds, and then the second half of Jaemin’s sentence sinks in. “Wait, if _ everything goes wrong _?” 

“I said _ if,_” Jaemin says. “Don’t worry, though. If everybody does their parts, then this should be a piece of cake.” 

* * *

“Who are we kidding,” Jeno says Friday evening as he fixes his hair in the mirror. “This is definitely gonna be a disaster.” 

“Knock on wood,” Chenle says, leaning over and rapping his knuckles on the side of Jaemin’s closet. 

“Funny how you guys are the nervous ones when Mark and Hyuck are doing the scariest stuff,” Jaemin jokes. 

Donghyuck looks over to where Mark is picking at his dinner. They’d gotten takeout, and everyone had eaten with a fair amount of enthusiasm except for Mark, who hasn’t really said much since they’d gotten to Jaemin’s house to get ready. 

The doorbell rings. “That’ll be Renjun,” Jaemin says, fiddling with his tie. “Donghyuck, can you go get him? And then your suit’s in the guest room down the hall.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Donghyuck says, getting up. He wonders what he’s going to say to Renjun—_hi, how are you, _ as if he doesn’t _ know _ what happened? _ Hey, you tried to kill me, _ which will only make Renjun feel _ worse? _

He opens the door, and his nerves evaporate as soon as he sees Renjun, shivering slightly in his hoodie, face pale and a little bruised. His car keys are in one hand, and in the other, his laptop. His knuckles are scratched. 

“You look terrible,” Donghyuck says weakly, and Renjun laughs, familiar and relieved. Donghyuck throws his arms around Renjun’s shoulders and squeezes tightly.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Renjun mumbles, and Donghyuck steps back to let him into the house. “Jaemin told me what happened. What I did.” 

“It wasn’t you,” Donghyuck says immediately. “It was—it was that _ thing. _The goo.” 

Renjun frowns. “That’s the thing, Donghyuck. I’m not sure if it was _ just _ the goo_._” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, it was like I was being told what to do,” Renjun says. “Not like a violent compulsion because of whatever infected me. Something…_outside _of me was telling me to say those things, and attack you.” 

Donghyuck blinks at him. “You mean—” 

Renjun nods. “There’s something out there controlling all of these things,” he says. “Chenle said the same thing a couple weeks ago, around when you guys went to Breakbreach Prison, do you remember?” 

“No,” Donghyuck says. Renjun rolls his eyes. 

“Of course you don’t. Anyway, he said it felt like he was being _ ordered. _ We didn’t think much of it at the time because we had other things to worry about, but—” 

“But now it’s relevant,” Donghyuck finishes, and Renjun nods grimly. “_Fuck. _That’s heavy. Have you told the others?” 

Renjun shakes his head. “Not yet.” 

“You should,” Donghyuck says. “It could be super relevant to what we’re about to do tonight. Because suddenly, it’s like there’s a _ motive. _This isn’t just a random, fucked-up thing that’s happening to people in the city.” 

“I know,” Renjun says. “I just can’t figure out what it has to do with _ you_.” 

“What about me?” Donghyuck says, looking himself up and down. 

“The whole born-not-made thing? And why I felt like I had to attack _ you, _and not, like, anybody else?” 

They stand in silence for a couple seconds, thinking.

“I honestly have no fucking idea,” Donghyuck says. “I hope it’s nothing big. I don’t wanna be stuck in the middle of all this.” 

Renjun opens his mouth, but a commotion upstairs cuts him off. 

“Hey, Hyuck, you gotta get this suit on, we’re running out of time!” Jeno calls from the upstairs bedroom. Something heavy falls over half a second later, and Chenle’s laughter rings out. 

“As you can see, we’re functioning super well without you,” Donghyuck says dryly. Renjun rolls his eyes again, but there’s genuine affection on his face. “Anyways, what were you gonna say?” 

“It’s nothing,” Renjun says, waving a hand. “I do want to apologize, though.” 

“Apology accepted,” Donghyuck says instantly. “Wait, apologize for what?” 

“God, I suck at this,” Renjun sighs. “For…hurting you. At the hospital and also last week, when I yelled at you. It wasn’t okay at all.” 

“I yelled too, and I really, really regret it,” Donghyuck replies. “Renjun, seriously, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hold it against you.” 

Renjun’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Donghyuck Lee, professional grudge-holder, isn’t going to hold a grudge? Do I sense some personal development?” 

“No, fuck off, go away,” Donghyuck scoffs, heading towards the stairs. “Never.” 

Renjun laughs, following him, and Donghyuck feels his face heat. “I’m very proud of you,” Renjun says, and it’s only half-teasing. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Donghyuck says, reaching the top of the stairs. “Guys, Renjun’s here!” 

The bedroom door slams open and out barrels Jaemin, who stops half an inch in front of Renjun and hugs him gently. Jeno, wearing a suit and looking _ extremely _dissatisfied, follows a second later. He brightens when he sees Renjun. 

“Donghyuck, go get dressed,” Jaemin says, pointing behind him. “Renjun, come with me. We’ve got some planning to do.”

“Since when do you _ plan_?” Renjun asks, disbelieving, but he’s swept into Jaemin’s bedroom before he can protest. 

Donghyuck, with a fair amount of resignation, goes into the guest room. There’s a complicated ensemble laid on the bed: a jacket that’s probably worth more than everything Donghyuck is wearing right now, a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a slim black tie. 

“How the _ fuck _ do I put this all on,” Donghyuck says to himself, pulling off his clothes and gingerly pulling on the borrowed pants. Jaemin is a couple inches taller than him, but Donghyuck has more muscle on his legs, so they end up fitting fairly well. The shirt has too many buttons, and it takes him multiple tries to get it on right. Mark walks in as he’s contemplating strangling Jaemin with the tie, which he cannot put on correctly for the _ life _of him. 

“Oh, sweet, it fits,” Mark says. “Jaemin was worried.” 

“Yeah, but I can’t put this goddamn tie on,” Donghyuck grumbles. “Why do _ you _get to dress up like a ninja but I have to wear a dumb suit?” 

Mark looks down at the dark thermals he’s wearing, graciously donated by Taeil and designed to stifle the sound of movement. He looks _ good, _unfairly so, especially given the fact that he’s just wearing black.

“You never learned how to tie a tie?” Mark asks, frowning. 

“You remember graduation,” Donghyuck points out. “I couldn’t figure mine out, so I just didn’t wear it.” 

“Oh, that’s _ right,_” Mark says. “Damn. Okay. Here, give it to me, I can help.” 

“How do _ you _know how to tie a tie?” Donghyuck asks, handing the tie over to Mark. 

“Engineering club has a bunch of events that require them,” Mark says, looping it around Donghyuck’s neck. “I got pretty good at it.” 

He steps a little closer, and Donghyuck tries not to breathe in through his nose, because Mark smells clean and boyish. Donghyuck wants to put his hands on Mark’s waist and close the last couple of inches between them, and it takes all his willpower to stay still. 

Mark’s hand brushes Donghyuck’s chin, and he can feel the heat of Mark’s body in the empty space between them.

Then, it’s done. Mark steps back, smoothing an idle hand down the tie. He looks up at Donghyuck and startles slightly—because of the look in his eyes, maybe? Their closeness?—but doesn’t move. 

“Did you think about things?” Donghyuck asks quietly. “You know…?” 

Mark steps back, scratching at the side of his neck. “Not really,” he says. “Y’know. I just need more time.” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, clearing his throat. “No rush.” He tries not to let too much disappointment bleed into his voice. He knows he’s being impatient, but he hates being stuck in limbos—it’s all or nothing for him, usually, and the not-knowing is killing him. 

But he shuts his mouth and lets Mark fix his collar and lapels. He doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the time they’re at Jaemin’s house, putting the final touches on gear and running through the plan one last time. 

“I really feel like we should be leaving this to the trained professionals,” Chenle says doubtfully as Renjun passes out earpieces (courtesy of Kun), which are translucent and loop around the tops of their ears. 

“The trained professionals aren’t gonna do a fucking thing,” Donghyuck says, double-checking his weapons—the knife holstered under his jacket, the brass knuckles from Ten, much to everyone’s amusement) tucked into an inside pocket. “That’s why _ we’ve _gotta do it.” 

“What has the world come to?” Jeno sighs. “College kids gotta do spy work in order for anything to get accomplished.” 

“I mean, you can complain all you want,” Jisung says, “but that doesn’t change how _ awesome _ this is. I’m wearing a bullet-proof vest. I have a _ taser._” 

“Oh boy,” Jaemin says, eyeing Jisung warily. “Who gave you _ that_?” 

“It’s all from Kun and Taeil,” Jisung reminds him. 

“Though I’m guessing some additions are from Ten,” Mark says, nodding at Donghyuck. “The brass knuckles? Is Hyuck in the mafia now?” 

“No, but imagine how _ cool_,” Donghyuck says, throwing a couple fake-punches in Mark’s direction. “If the whole vigilante thing doesn’t work out—” 

“No mafia,” Renjun says firmly. “_That’s _how you get killed.” 

“What, like brawling on rooftops and dueling with zombie-demons is any safer,” Donghyuck scoffs. 

“Okay, good point, but still,” Renjun says. “Now shut up and get ready.” 

“I’m ready!” Donghyuck protests, holding out his arms to show off his completed ensemble. “Tie is tied, knife is holstered, plan is memorized!” 

“Then what’s the plan?” Renjun challenges. 

“Steal the key, leave Jeno and Jaemin to watch Mr. Vanderfelt, meet Mark at the rendezvous point, wait for the go-ahead from you, get into the penthouse, open the office, get the blackmail evidence, get out.” 

“Okay, fine, yeah, you’re ready,” Renjun admits. “That’s pretty spot on.” 

“I mean, you guys are doing most of the behind-the-scenes work,” Donghyuck says. “And I trust you with my life, so I’m not worried.” 

“I am,” Chenle says. “In case you were wondering.” 

“We weren’t,” Jaemin says. “Jeno, stop fidgeting, you’ll wrinkle your jacket.” 

Jeno drops his hands miserably. “I hate this.” 

“You guys are the most normal,” Renjun says, “which is why you gotta stay at that party. Vanderfelt _ can’t _leave while Mark and Hyuck are in his office, or we all get thrown in jail.” 

“Let’s try to avoid that,” Mark says, clapping Renjun on the back. “I heard jail isn’t super pleasant.” 

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jaemin says darkly. 

Chenle raises his eyebrows. “You’ve been in jail?” 

“Of course he hasn’t,” Donghyuck says. “He’s rich and his mom’s a cop. He’s just watched a lot of TV.” 

“Please, for the love of God, can we go, I hate this suit,” Jeno says desperately. “The sooner we commit this crime, the sooner I can take off these dumb cufflinks and go to bed.” 

They pile into Jaemin’s mom’s minivan, which isn’t the most elegant of vehicles—but it’s big, and it certainly does the trick. Renjun sets up his computers and activates the earpieces, Kun quickly jumping on the line with him. 

“I might be in and out,” Kun warns as Jaemin navigates through Friday night downtown traffic. “There are a lot of people looking for this phone call. We’re mostly working on keeping them off your tail—keeping _ you _invisible.” 

“You know, I could help with the computer stuff,” Jeno says hopefully, shifting again in his suit. “I’m good at it.” 

“I know you are,” Kun says gently, “but we really need you in that ballroom. Your friends need you to watch their backs.” 

Jeno looks at Mark and Donghyuck, who are squeezed in the back, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Fine,” he relents. “Fine. But please don’t let the cops or the mafia or Vanderfelt’s massive security team find us.” 

“I’ll buy you as much time as we can,” Kun says. “Alright, I’ve gotta disconnect now, but I’ll call back once I hear from Renjun about the key. You know where it is, right?” 

“The left side pocket on his jacket,” Donghyuck says. “Easy money.” 

“Be careful,” Kun reminds him. “And be safe. All of you.” 

He drops from the call, and Jaemin pulls into an alley a little ways away from the party venue. He puts the car in park and turns the engine off. 

“Well,” Jaemin says, “we’re here.”

Mark’s leg is bouncing again, and Donghyuck’s nerves are jangling in his stomach, making him a little nauseated. His own nervousness swells in his chest like a balloon, but he puts his hand on Mark’s knee. 

“We’ve got this,” he reminds Mark. “We’re a team, remember? And not just any team—we’re _ that _team. Taeil gave this task to us for a reason.” 

“I know,” Mark says quietly. “I just don’t wanna fuck up.” 

“Me neither,” Donghyuck says. “So we’re just gonna do our best and remember the plan. We’ve got everyone watching our backs—and you’ve got _ me _watching your back.” 

Mark takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “Right,” he says. “We’ve got this.” 

Jeno slides the door to the minivan open, jumping out and popping the seat down. Donghyuck joins him and Jaemin, while the rest of them—save for Renjun, who’ll be directing from the relative safety of the car—get ready to head to Vanderfelt’s penthouse. 

Mark reaches up so quickly Donghyuck almost misses it, brushing a knuckle underneath Donghyuck’s chin. Donghyuck blinks at him, startled, but Mark just offers him a small, firm smile. “See you soon,” he says. “Good luck.” 

And then he, Chenle and Jisung are gone, vanishing into the shadows at the end of the alley. 

Jaemin, Jeno, and Donghyuck stand and contemplate their situation for a second. It’s very, very fucked up. They’re just kids, really—Donghyuck, for a half second, wishes he was normal just like everybody else, getting wasted at a house party or curled beneath his blankets watching a movie. _ Not _standing in a cold, dark alley like some wannabe, aggressively-underprepared James Bond. That is, if James Bond was gay, on the verge of failing class, and stuck in an increasingly-confusing tangle of a relationship with his best friend that he’s been in love with for almost three years. 

“This is really a big mess,” Donghyuck says aloud. 

“I hate my suit,” Jeno adds. 

Jaemin sighs and puts his arms around both of them. “And on that note, let’s go steal from a billionaire.” 

* * *

The first part goes, surprisingly, without a hitch. They present their invitations at the door and are immediately let into a massive room full of finely-dressed, absurdly wealthy people. Even the waiters, who rove with flutes of champagne and silly-looking appetizers—are wearing clothing that costs more than anything Donghyuck owns. 

They spot Vanderfelt almost immediately, his salt-and-pepper hair finely styled, his watch glinting under the light. Unfortunately, he’s already surrounded by a billion other people, giving them no chance to talk to him. 

“At least, not like we are right now,” Jaemin says. “Only the _ fanciest _of fancy people get to talk to him. I’m betting that’s like, all S&P 500 companies over there right now.” 

“What’s an S&P?” Donghyuck asks, snagging something that vaguely resembles a sandwich off a tray. It tastes like shrimp, but it’s also strangely good. He hasn’t eaten anything this fancy since he ran the Courier errand for Christa. 

Jaemin starts talking about some boring stock stuff, which gets Jeno talking about capitalism, which gets neither of them any closer to Vanderfelt. 

“You guys, we gotta think of something,” Donghyuck says, turning to Jaemin. 

“Yeah,” Jeno says, crossing his arms. “We need a way to get close to him.” 

Jaemin eyes them both. “Why’re you looking at me? Donghyuck’s _ way _more charismatic than I am.” 

“But these are your _ people_,” Donghyuck says. “Right?” 

“Wrong,” Jaemin says, shaking his head. “I may own a suit, but these guys are _ billionaires, _Donghyuck. My mom’s in law enforcement, and we’re living off my dead dad’s inheritance.” 

“Oh,” Donghyuck says. He pauses, and taps his earpiece, getting an idea. “Renjun? You there?” 

“Yup,” Renjun says. “Why haven’t you guys done anything yet? You don’t have unlimited time.” 

“What projects is Vanderfelt working on right now?” Donghyuck asks, a plan slowly coming together in his head. It’s nowhere near _ good, _and he’s not sure at all if it’ll work—but it’s either this, or charging at Vanderfelt headlong and punching him in the face. 

“Um, space tech,” Renjun says. “Which is funny, because he’s a security tech company—I wonder why he wants to go to the moon?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Donghyuck says. He pulls Jeno and Jaemin close, hastily explaining his plan. Renjun tells them that Mark, Jisung and Chenle have reached the rendezvous at Vanderfelt’s penthouse. 

“Okay?” Donghyuck asks when he’s done, stepping back. “We just gotta get his attention.” 

Jeno bites his lip. “It’s _ really _dumb, Hyuck. Even for you.” 

“Thanks,” Donghyuck says dryly. “But you don’t seem to have any better ideas, so we gotta go for it.” He looks at Jaemin. “Ready?” 

“Ready,” Jaemin says. He takes a deep breath, grabs two glasses of champagne, and makes a beeline for the first lost-looking, socially-awkward man he sees. Donghyuck and Jeno watch with bated breath, and then immediately dive into a fake conversation as the man nods and follows Jaemin back to the two of them. 

“—complex circadian rhythms,” Jeno says as the man approaches them. 

“Five hundred million dollars is nothing,” Donghyuck adds, even though he’s not sure how much five hundred million dollars even seems to these people. Oh well. The richer he sounds, the better, right?” 

“These are some associates of mine,” Jaemin says, and he only sounds a little nervous. He’s not the best liar, but he’s the most charming. “Uh, Michael Jordan, and, um, D…Dick Dickinson.” 

Donghyuck feels his composure slip dangerously, holding back laughter as the man looks between them, very obviously confused. 

“Michael…Jordan?” he asks, looking at Jeno. 

“My parents are huge basketball fans,” Jeno says, sounding a little choked as he tries not to laugh. He shakes the man’s hand. “Unfortunately for them, I decided to go into, um, aerospace medical technology.” 

“Very interesting,” the man says, even though Donghyuck is absolutely sure Jeno is speaking out of his ass. The man turns to Donghyuck. “And you were…?” 

“Dick Dickinson,” Donghyuck says, and Jaemin just barely manages to turn his snort into a strangled-sounding cough. “I know nothing about science. I just fund it.” 

The man introduces himself as Theo Kiate, and proves to be a terrible conversationalist, just as Donghyuck predicted. However, as soon as Jeno starts throwing around science-y terms and Donghyuck makes up an exorbitant spending history, they find themselves being led towards Christian Vanderfelt, who apparently knows Theo quite well, because he waves the crowd away to make way for the three of them. Jaemin slips away at the last second, winking at Donghyuck and giving him a subtle thumbs-up.

Donghyuck steadies himself as _ the _ Christian Vanderfelt, genius celebrity billionaire, reaches out to shake Donghyuck’s hand. He has a very friendly smile, and even though Theo is _ literally _ incapable of answering _ how have you been? _ he’s patient and kind. 

_ No, not kind, _ Donghyuck reminds himself. _ He’s responsible for prison breaks. And firing Kun. _

“Grab the key,” Renjun says in Donghyuck’s ear. “It’s right there.” 

_ WAIT, _Donghyuck wants to tell him. This is the best part of his plan—he’d seen it in a movie, and hopes beyond hope that it works. 

“I have to say,” Donghyuck says in a fake-pompous voice, “I’m quite interested in these space ventures of yours, Mr. Vanderfelt.” 

Vanderfelt’s face lights up. “Oh, it’s more of a passion project. Really, we’re mostly focusing on—” 

“Watch out!” someone cries, just as Jaemin comes stumbling into the circle with a small bowl and a glass of champagne. Donghyuck steps back, but Vanderfelt, who wasn’t born an anomaly and crafted into a weapon, is too slow. 

The bowl, Donghyuck discovers a second later, is filled with cheese fondue, somehow. He has no idea how Jaemin had even gotten it, but Vanderfelt gets drenched in it plus champagne, recoiling so violently he knocks into Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck catches him by the crook of his elbow, and slips his hand into Vanderfelt’s pocket. Sure enough, the key is there—and then it’s not, because Donghyuck palms it and slips it into his own. 

And then it’s over—Jaemin performs a theatrical, over-the-top apology, half a step away from flinging himself onto the ground. Vanderfelt, for some reason, _ doesn’t _kick him out—he also has a new jacket brought to him from somewhere behind the scenes. 

Donghyuck doesn’t see any of this, of course—Renjun narrates to him as he breaks into a jog towards Vanderfelt’s penthouse, the key heavy in his pocket. 

Kun is patched through just as Donghyuck crosses the last street. 

“Security cameras will go down as soon as you enter the lobby,” Kun says. “I gave Mark a keycard. Just act natural and ignore the doorman. If he acts up, leave him to Jisung. You guys got this.” 

“Mark and them all are just around the corner,” Renjun says. “I’m letting them know now.” 

By the time Donghyuck stops in front of the revolving glass doors of Vanderfelt’s penthouse—fancier than even Taeil’s, and he’d been in the heart of downtown—Mark, Chenle and Jisung are waiting for him, looking a little nervous but mostly determined. 

“Why do you smell like cheese?” Jisung asks. 

“Long story,” Donghyuck says, sticking his hand in his pocket. “But it helped me get the key.” 

“Hopefully the security doesn’t notice and taser you,” Chenle says worriedly. “We looked, and there are a _ lot _of them in there.” 

Donghyuck’s heart jumps into his throat. “I thought you said there was just gonna be a doorman?” 

“We thought so too,” Mark says darkly, peering around the corner at the building entrance. “But they must’ve increased security because of the party. I think they’re checking to make sure everyone going up is a resident.” 

“Shit, shit, what do we do,” Donghyuck hisses, pulling Mark back into the alley. “They’ll know _ for sure _that we’re not residents.” 

“Grapple hook up the side?” Jisung offers. 

“What, to the twentieth floor?” Mark says, leaning back against the wall next to Donghyuck. “Renjun, Kun, any help?” 

“I…did not anticipate this,” Kun says apologetically. “I can get the cameras off for you on the street, too, if that’ll help.” 

“We need, like, a diversion or something,” Renjun muses. “Maybe I can drive the van over?” 

“I don’t know how effective that’ll be,” Mark says. “They’re inside the building. We need a way to draw them out.” 

“The only person here that can outrun the security is Donghyuck,” Jisung points out. “The rest of us aren’t fast enough. They’ve got _ stun guns. _ And _ batons. _ They’re _ privately-trained. _I know the type.” 

“The thing is, we need Donghyuck in that penthouse,” Kun says. “Just in case you guys meet any resistance.” 

They lapse into frustrated silence, until Chenle clears his throat. 

“Donghyuck’s not the only one that can outrun the security,” Chenle says quietly.

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asks, frowning. “I’m the only one with superp—_ wait a second. _” 

“Chenle, _ no _,” Renjun interrupts, also putting the pieces together. “You can’t go. That’s way too dangerous.” 

“We’re out of options, Renjun,” Chenle says, “and we’re running out of time. Vanderfelt could notice the missing key at any minute now. We _ need _those files if we want any chance of figuring out what’s happening to the city.” He turns to Jisung, pleading. “Back me up?” 

“I trust you,” Jisung says uneasily. “Nobody wants you to get hurt, though.” 

“I won’t,” Chenle promises. “You guys, it’s _ night. _I’ll have no problem getting away at all.”

Mark looks over at Donghyuck, who shifts. The idea of Chenle getting hurt makes him sick to his stomach—but at the same time, they’ve got no other choice. 

“If he says he can do it,” Donghyuck says, “then we gotta trust him.” 

Chenle’s shoulders slump with relief. “Thanks, Hyuck.” 

“Chenle—” Renjun tries. 

Chenle cuts him off. “Nuh-uh. I’m doing this. You guys need to get in position—I don’t know how many of them I’ll be able to draw off, or how far they’ll chase me. As soon as you see that opening, you have to take it.” 

“You also won’t have him if things go south,” Kun warns. “He won’t be able to teleport you out. It’ll be just the two of you.” 

“That’s okay,” Mark says, putting a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. “We’re used to it being just the two of us.” 

“We owe you big-time, Chenle,” Jisung says, pulling Chenle into a tight hug. “Don’t get fucking tased, okay?” 

“Yup,” Chenle says, offering him a thumbs-up before he takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Okay. I’m going.” 

“Cameras are down,” Kun says. “You got this.” 

Chenle nods firmly, and then he’s on his feet, rounding the corner. Donghyuck watches him push through the revolving door, his face mask pulled up. 

There’s a couple seconds of tense silence. Mark’s hand tightens on his shoulder as they wait—and wait—

And then there’s a shout, and the emergency door slams open as Chenle materializes in the shadows on the street, stopping just long enough to let the three security guards spot him and give chase. 

“This guy’s got abilities!” one of them shouts. “Call in backup!” 

“Go, go, go,” Kun says urgently. “_Now. _Jisung, wait a second—” 

Donghyuck hauls Mark up by his arm, and they hurry through the still-spinning revolving door. The doorman is on his feet, a phone pressed against his ear, while the rest of the security detail ushers the people in the lobby towards the elevators—Donghyuck and Mark included. 

“Please return to your residences,” one gruff, bald man says, herding people into an open elevator. “It was probably just a prank, but we’re going to ensure your safety as we double-check.” 

Donghyuck tries not to look nervous as a security guard looks him right in the eyes, squinting like he can see into Donghyuck’s mind. A single drop of sweat rolls down the back of his spine, and he presses closer to Mark as they hurry into the elevator. A second later, though, the man’s eyes have passed on to the next person, and the elevator doors seal shut. 

He can feel Mark’s anxiety rolling off him in waves as the floor numbers increase, people stepping off in twos and threes. The key is burning a hole in Donghyuck’s pocket, and he keeps his eyes on the floor, desperately hoping he doesn’t come off as suspicious. 

“Almost there,” Kun says in his earpiece. “Mark, use the card as soon as the last person gets off the elevator.” 

Mark does just that, tapping the card Kun had sent them against the reader just as the elevator door closes on the last multi-unit level. The penthouse button lights up automatically, and they continue their ascent. 

“Chenle’s safe, by the way,” Renjun says. “He’s back here with me.” 

“They gave up when they realized I could teleport,” Chenle’s voice comes through, slightly breathless but cheerful as ever. “Are you guys almost there?” 

The elevator doors open for the last time, and Mark and Donghyuck step out into a dimly-lit, richly-carpeted hallway with a single set of wooden doors at the end. 

“We’re here,” Mark says, hushed. “Is it empty?” 

“Should be,” Renjun says. “But be careful anyway.” 

Donghyuck puts a hand on where his safety knife is stored, and he and Mark creep soundlessly down the hallway. The same keycard unlocks the doors, and they swing open without a creak, revealing the dark interior of Vanderfelt’s apartment. 

“Holy shit,” Donghyuck breathes. “Okay. Yes. It’s unlocked.” 

“We’re in,” Mark adds, and pauses. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Also I think I’m a little lightheaded.” 

“This is literally so illegal,” Renjun sighs. “Just get on with it before you get caught, okay?” 

They walk into Vanderfelt’s penthouse. Donghyuck barely dares to breathe, and certainly doesn’t touch the lights, despite the gloves he’d put on in the elevator. He touches his safety knife again, and its solidness grounds him, slows the spinning in his mind. 

“His office is the last door on the right, next to that ugly painting of the Macroshot building,” Renjun says, and Donghyuck and Mark head towards it, wincing with every creak in the floorboard. 

Donghyuck pulls the key from his pocket. It looks so ordinary, sitting in his palm—he almost can’t believe Jaemin had dumped a whole pot of cheese fondue on Vanderfelt a short bit ago to get it. 

“This is the longest night of my life,” Donghyuck mutters, slotting the key into the lock and turning it. Just like the front, the office door opens without a sound. 

Mark fumbles with his phone, activating the flashlight as they step into the office. Two massive windows behind the desk open up to a truly impressive view of the city, the bay visible just past the high-rises of downtown, glittering like dark gems. The streets, from this high up, look like yellow-orange lines, the streetlight blending in with the headlights from slowly-moving cars. 

“I’d get rich just to have a view like this,” Donghyuck admits. “No wonder all the billionaires live in penthouses.” 

“Focus,” Renjun reminds him. “We don’t have long.” 

“What are we looking for?” Mark asks, opening a couple drawers in Vanderfelt’s desk. “A flash drive?” 

“Actually, it’s not even on a hard drive,” Kun says. “It’s not electronic at all.” 

“That’s not helpful,” Donghyuck says, looking down at the stacks of documents and manila folders piled on the various surfaces around the room. “It’ll take us hours to go through it all.” 

“It’ll be on his desk, probably, since there are rumors going around about it,” Kun says. “Um, it’ll look out-of-place, too.” 

Legal documents, a tablet, pamphlets, spam mail—and a yellow shipping folder, the kind with bubble wrap on the inside. There’s no return address, no postage stamp, just the letters _ CHV _written in black marker on the front. 

“CHV,” Donghyuck says, picking it up. “Christian-something-Vanderfelt?” 

Mark comes to hover at his shoulder as he reaches inside the package, pulling out a stack of papers. Some of them look like email exchanges based on the header, and others are bills that add up to thousands of dollars. But it’s the newspaper clippings that really get Donghyuck’s attention, yellowed and curling at the corners: 

_ VANDERFELT STILL FUNDING DUPAIN’S COMPANY DESPITE DISASTROUS ACCIDENT _

It’s from a newspaper Donghyuck doesn’t even recognize, the town name unfamiliar. “Look at this,” he says, tilting it towards Mark, whose eyes widen as he reads it. 

“No _ way, _ ” Mark says, reading it again. “Vanderfelt—Vanderfelt was _ funding _Dupain’s crazy experiments?” 

“Don’t you think we would’ve known that?” Donghyuck says, frowning at the clipping. “Don’t you think the public would’ve _ remembered _that.” 

“Vanderfelt knew Heather Dupain?” Renjun asks. “What are you looking at?” 

“A newspaper clipping,” Donghyuck says, “from the Gazelle Daily Times.” 

There’s a clicking noise in the background as someone searches it. “Doesn’t exist,” Chenle says. 

“Like, it says it’s not a thing anymore?” Mark asks, rifling through more clippings. “There’s a whole article here, and it’s on _ real _ newspaper.” 

“No, as in, there’s no actual proof it ever _ existed,_” Chenle says. 

Mark looks at Donghyuck, and dread sinks through him like a stone. “Vanderfelt wiped it out after they published this,” Donghyuck says. “I’m dead-sure.” 

Mark digests this. “That’s _ terrifying,_” he says. “He just—he just erased it?” 

Donghyuck turns back to the article. “Dupain was an awful person who did awful things. She wanted to wipe out _ thousands. _Remember her whole population-cleansing nonsense? Those who didn’t believe her should die?” 

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Mark says, shaking his head. “There’s no _ way _Vanderfelt would’ve been successful if he had that hanging on him.” 

“There’s gotta be more, though,” Donghyuck says, shuffling through the pile, his eyes seizing on random words, sentences that he can’t puzzle out. “You can’t take down a billionaire with just one article. He’s gotta be up to something _ now—” _

“Something that has to do with Heather Dupain?” Chenle offers. “Even though she’s dead?” 

Something itches at the back of Donghyuck’s mind, a connection he’s not sure he wants to make. “I get the feeling—” 

“You guys, I hate to interrupt,” Jeno cuts in, “but Vanderfelt’s just left the party with his whole security team. He knows the key is missing. Jaemin and I are—oh, fuck, okay, we’re running—we’ll try to buy you time—” 

The line goes dead, and Donghyuck’s stomach drops to his knees. He starts shoving papers back into the folder, tucking it under the strap for his knife holster. 

“_Fuck_,” Renjun hisses. “Kun? Are you there?” 

No reply. Mark starts to put papers back in their place, but Donghyuck grabs his wrist. 

“No time,” he says. “We gotta run.” 

“Toss your earpieces,” Renjun says. “If Kun’s not here, there’s a chance they got through into his system.” 

“But what about meeting up?” 

“When you’re safe, give me a call,” Renjun says. “If it’s past twelve-thirty, I’ll assume the worst. But until then—Chenle, buckle up, I swear to God—” 

“Guys, Vanderfelt’s in the lobby,” Jisung says, and Mark yelps as Donghyuck yanks him out of the office, knocking the painting of the Macroshot building sideways. 

“Yeah, we know,” Donghyuck snaps. “We’re running.” 

“Take the stairs,” Jisung advises. “I’ll hold them off as long as possible.”

“_Call me,_” Renjun reminds them. “And be safe.” 

* * *

The line goes dead, same as Jeno’s, filling his ear with soft static. Donghyuck rips the earpiece out of his ear and crushes it beneath his heel. Mark does the same. 

They’re about to open the front door when Mark freezes, grabbing Donghyuck by his jacket and hauling him behind the doorway to the kitchen. 

“They’re outside,” he breathes, slowly moving to put his mask on. Donghyuck does the same, adrenaline flooding his veins like ice. Everything narrows down to precise snippets of sensation—the click of the front door opening, the footsteps of nearly a dozen men in the entryway. His heart, pounding hard in his chest, the shaky, slow breathes Mark takes next to him. He slowly eases the brass knuckles onto his hands, sticking the folder under the straps of his knife harness. He hopes it doesn’t fall out, otherwise this all will have been for nothing.

Donghyuck touches Mark’s wrist and points at the door, which has been left open. Mark nods. 

“Search the place!” someone orders gruffly. “They’re still in here!” 

Lights flip on, doors slam open, and Donghyuck sends a brief prayer to whomever—or _ whatever_—might be listening in. And then he’s on his feet and sprinting as hard as he can, out of the penthouse. 

There are shouts behind him, and then the sound of pursuit, but all Donghyuck focuses on is Mark, half a step behind him, and the ground in front of him. The elevator opens just as they reach it, and this time, it’s Vanderfelt that’s on it with _ more _ security, which is ridiculous because they’re just kids—they’re just _ kids _ and they’re trying to _ help_—

“There they are!” Vanderfelt shouts. “I recognize that suit!” 

“Stairwell, stairwell,” Donghyuck chants, heading towards the emergency fire exit—but it’s locked, the handle not budging when Donghyuck twists it. 

“Watch out!” Mark shouts, and Donghyuck turns just in time to watch Mark dodge a punch from a security guard, retaliating with a furious kick in his sternum. He goes stumbling back, giving Donghyuck just enough time to slam his shoulder into the door _ as hard as he fucking can, _steel crumpling under the blow with a shriek. 

“Holy fucking _ shit!_” Mark shouts as he and Donghyuck hurtle down the staircase. “That was—!” 

“SHUT UP AND RUN,” Donghyuck yells back.

“Wait, fuck, Donghyuck, the lobby—” Mark interrupts a few minutes later as they reach floor four. “They’re gonna catch us if we don’t—” 

“Okay, then, what do we do?” Donghyuck asks, hyper-aware of the footsteps that pound ever closer, boots on concrete stairs as he pushes open the fire escape door. 

Mark glances behind him as they jog down the hallway, a few curious residents opening their doors to see what the commotion is. Mark gestures furiously at them, nearly whacking a lady in the face. 

“This is a dead end, Mark,” Donghyuck warns him as they round the corner, nothing but a window at the end of the hall. 

“I know,” Mark says, looking behind him again and paling. “I really, really don’t wanna do this, but all of this was for nothing if we get caught in that damn lobby.” 

“What the hell are you planning,” Donghyuck says. Mark doesn’t reply, and Donghyuck grabs his shoulders, pulling both of them to a halt. 

Mark looks Donghyuck in the eye. “Do you trust me?” 

“With everything I’ve got,” Donghyuck says immediately, unthinking. 

“Then break that window,” Mark says, “and hold on.” 

And because it’s Mark—because he asked, because Donghyuck loves him and trusts him—he does it, punching through the glass with every inch of strength in his body (which is a lot). And then Mark’s arms are around him, his head tucked against Mark’s chest, and then they’re _ falling _, the wind snapping through Donghyuck’s hair, the shouts of their pursuers cutting out. 

There’s a violent, awful crash, and pain jolts through Donghyuck’s body, his head snapping back against Mark’s grip. His ears ring, and as soon as he lifts his head, he almost vomits from the pain and vertigo. They’ve landed on the hood of a car, and its alarm blares, fractured windshield crumbling as Donghyuck picks himself off of Mark, who’s underneath him. 

“Mark,” Donghyuck says, bracing himself on the dented hood. “God, please don’t tell me you—” 

“I didn’t,” Mark groans, one eye cracking open. “I definitely, one hundred percent cannot walk, though.” 

“How long?” Donghyuck asks, but as he says it, sirens blare in the distance, and the voices start to get closer again. 

“Too long,” Mark says, and Donghyuck sighs, leaning forward to peel him from the car’s hood. “Ouch, fuck, be gentle.” 

“Sorry,” Donghyuck says, adjusting so he’s carrying Mark part-bridal style, but mostly like he’s a sack of flour, slung over Donghyuck’s shoulder as he jogs through alleyways and dark streets, trying not to draw too much attention. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Mark complains with every step. “Ow.” 

“This was _ your _plan, dumbass,” Donghyuck reminds him. He swerves left to avoid a cop car parked at an intersection, its lights flashing.

“I know,” Mark says, his hands fisting in Donghyuck’s suit jacket, “which is why I’m surprised it _ worked.” _

“I can’t believe you _ willingly _ jumped through a window,” Donghyuck says, slowing his pace as the city starts to quiet around them. “Normally I have to force you through one.” 

“I’m glad you trusted me,” Mark says, and Donghyuck attempts a laugh, but the adrenaline is wearing off and the ache from the fall is starting to set in. He’ll be bruised to hell tomorrow. He just hopes it’ll be healed by Monday so he doesn’t get any strange looks. 

“Can we—can I set you down for a second,” Donghyuck says, lungs and back starting to protest. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Mark replies, and Donghyuck staggers to a halt in an alley. “You were hauling ass.” 

“We were going to get _ arrested _if I didn’t,” Donghyuck pants, slumping against the alley wall and letting Mark down. He winces as he puts weight on his legs, but he can stand, at least. He’s still covered in blood, and gets it all over Donghyuck’s borrowed suit as he braces his forearms on Donghyuck’s shoulders. 

“Whoa,” Mark breathes, wincing again as he shifts. “That was—” 

“Intense? Fucked-up?” Donghyuck offers, slipping the brass knuckles off and double-checking to make sure he hasn’t lost the folder. 

“Kind of fun, I was gonna say,” Mark says, and Donghyuck laughs, his bruised and battered body aching with the effort. Mark joins in, the sound a little worn-through and tired. Their relief is palpable, hovering in the space between their chests. 

“Who’s the adrenaline junkie _ now, _huh?” Donghyuck teases, and Mark’s smile turns affectionate. 

“Still you,” Mark says, and his voice is far softer than Donghyuck expected. He brushes some glass from Donghyuck’s shoulders, and the mood suddenly shifts, electricity racing down Donghyuck’s spine and raising the hair on his arms. Mark’s eyes widen just a fraction, like he’s seeing something new in Donghyuck’s face. A strange sort of fear sours in the pit of Donghyuck’s stomach—neither of them are drunk and neither of them know what’s happening between them—but it’s overwhelmed by anticipation and _ want, _both of which twist his gut in a far different way. 

“Mark,” Donghyuck says, part-question, part-request. Mark’s hands shift on his shoulders, and he brushes a knuckle underneath Donghyuck’s chin this time, only slower, so Donghyuck is sure he didn’t imagine it. 

“Huh,” Mark says, and it’s an answer as much as anything else, so Donghyuck leans forward and kisses him. 

And Mark—Mark _ kisses him back. _ It’s not a confession or a promise or anything, but it’s a _ kiss, _ and holy shit, Donghyuck is kissing Mark Lee, his best friend, for the second time and more importantly, he’s being _ kissed back. _ Donghyuck has his hand on Mark’s waist, can feel Mark’s pulse under his skin, his heart thundering in time to Donghyuck’s. And _ then _Mark’s tongue is pressing against Donghyuck’s bottom lip, and Donghyuck thinks about never going back, about how this is infinitely better than a redo or a recreation of that night—

The realization hits him like a fucking bus, and he pulls away from Mark so quickly he almost loses his balance. 

“Whoa, hey,” Mark says, steadying him. He’s covered in blood and glass but his mouth is pink and Donghyuck wants to kiss him again, and again, except his mind is going a million miles an hour. “Are you—was that—” 

“No, no, no no no,” Donghyuck says, putting a finger up. “I just—Christian Vanderfelt and Heather Dupain.” 

Mark opens his mouth, eyebrows drawing together, but Donghyuck waves him off. “Just listen. They worked together, right? He funded her projects even when she failed, when she was killing animals and maybe even when she killed all those people in her labs, too. He _ believed _in her. In what she was doing.” 

“Okay, right, but what does that have to do with _ now?”_

“Those bills,” Donghyuck says. “The emails. I just caught bits of it—stuff about labs, about equipment, about testing and stuff.” He looks at Mark expectantly, waiting for him to get it, but Mark just continues to stare at him, totally confused. 

Donghyuck huffs impatiently. “It’s not blackmail—it’s _ proof. _ Vanderfelt’s running _ experiments, _ Mark,” he says. “And not a fun science project. _ Dupain’s _experiments.” 

Mark’s mouth drops open, and Donghyuck nods, grim. 

“Christian Vanderfelt is trying to wipe out half the city.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the kids say: Welcome to the Endgame, Everyone 
> 
> oh shit!! OH SHIT!!! 
> 
> questions, comments, concerns (i have many and you'll see why)?  
twitter: [x](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
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	19. this could be it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donghyuck gets some advice, a phone call, and a promise to talk if everything goes well. 
> 
> (This could very well be it, he thinks. All they need to do is push through one last fight.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy mark lee day!! this is so long, too long, and i apologize in advance if anything seems disjointed. i wrote this in two parts sort of far apart from each other. let me know (on twt/cc) if you catch anything and i'll fix it!! 
> 
> thank you for all the continued love and support with this fic!! i realize updates are slow and far in-between, so the comments and love i get on each chapter really mean the entire world to me. thank you guys so, so much. 
> 
> (please enjoy this one.)

The air between them goes very, very still for a moment while Mark processes this. Donghyuck’s hands are still on Mark’s waist, and Mark is standing like his legs still hurt. He’s frowning, and his mouth is pink. 

Donghyuck feels like his brain is on fire. 

“It makes sense,” Mark admits. “I mean—there’s some parts that don’t fit, like the newspaper clippings, but—” 

“But that’s the only option,” Donghyuck finishes, and Mark nods. “It _has _to be Vanderfelt. It has to be.” 

“He’s got the money and the technology,” Mark says. “All we need is a motive.” 

Donghyuck thinks about the folder still tucked into his jacket, and the next steps appear in front of him easily. He drops his hands and steps away from Mark, missing the closeness but needing the space to think. “We have to talk to Ten.” 

“What?” Mark asks, clearly not expecting _that _as a response. “Ten?” 

“Dupain’s experiments were all about bad energy,” Donghyuck says. “_Dark _energy. And that sounds right up Ten’s alley.” 

Mark pushes himself off. “What are we waiting for, then?” 

“Whoa there, all-star,” Donghyuck says, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “What, are you gonna run? Didn’t you just break your whole back _and _your legs?” 

“I’m fine,” Mark assures him, even as he takes a step and nearly collapses. Donghyuck catches him easily, a tiny thrill of delight shivering down his spine at the way Mark’s cheeks turn pink. It’s both easy and impossible to forget that three minutes ago, they’d been kissing—Mark had been kissing him _back_—and now they’re back to normal. Well, as normal as it can get, now that Mark is looking at him like _that_, like he’s noticed something that Donghyuck hasn’t. 

“We should go,” Donghyuck says slowly, and Mark nods, his cheeks still flushed. 

They clean up as best they can. Donghyuck buttons his suit coat to hide the blood—mostly Mark’s—that has soaked through his white shirt. Mark, who’s dressed in black, only has to worry about the stains on his skin, rubbing dirt and blood from his face and hands. The harsh lighting on the train certainly doesn’t help, throwing their impressive number of injuries into sharp relief. 

They must look like quite a combo, Donghyuck thinks, amused. Him, in his bloodstained suit, his hands bruised, and Mark, his hood up to hide the blood caked in his hair and down his neck, wearing tactical thermals. On the train, they quietly make phone calls to all their friends, who are scattered across the city. They agree to meet at Mark and Jeno’s in forty-five minutes, since Donghyuck is a little hesitant to explain the whole situation in such a public place, with more than one set of suspicious eyes on them. 

Ten’s neighborhood is quiet and, thankfully, free from anybody who wants to shoot them. Well, mostly free, because when Ten opens his apartment door it’s with a gun in one of his hands, aimed steadily at Donghyuck’s head. 

Mark’s hands go up in an instant. “Jesus,” he says. “It’s just us, Ten.” 

Ten’s eyes widen a fraction as he recognizes them, and lowers the gun, flicking the safety on. “Get inside,” he says urgently. “I don’t know where the eyes and ears are, but they’re close.” 

The expression on Ten’s face is unnerved enough to tell Donghyuck that he’s not being dramatic for the sake of it. They hurry inside Ten’s apartment, and he shuts the door behind them with a snap. All the lights are off save for the one in Kun’s office.

“Quietly,” Ten says, herding them towards the room.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?” Donghyuck asks as soon as they’re in Kun’s office, the computer displays dark, save for a single laptop showing security camera feed from the sidewalk out front. 

“They’re watching this place for him,” Ten says crisply, holstering his gun in the waistband of his pants with an ease that Mark frowns at. “Kun, I mean. The Macroshot guys got through to him at the last second. They’ve been circling the block for the last hour.” 

“They know where you live?” Mark asks uneasily. “Shouldn’t you be in hiding?” 

“They can’t prove that it was him that did all this,” Ten says, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “They’re hoping to catch him and get him to confess to it, though.” 

“Which is why he’s gone?” Donghyuck guesses, and Ten nods, his shoulders drooping. He sits heavily in the chair in front of the laptop, looking like he’s aged five years in the blink of an eye. In the dim light of the desk lamp, he looks exhausted, sick with worry. He picks at his cuticles for a second, staring off into the distance, before he seems to remember that Donghyuck and Mark are still there. 

Ten shakes his head and knits his fingers together. “Sorry. You guys must be here for a reason.” 

“Is there anything we can do?” Mark offers, and Ten shakes his head again. 

“No,” he says, sighing heavily. “This isn’t the first time he’s had to do this. We both knew the dangers of going after Macroshot from the get-go. He was gone for three days after Breakbeach Prison, right after we visited you guys in the hospital.” 

“Why?” 

“He was the one who alerted the police about the break-out,” Ten says. “It was supposed to be an inside job. A covert operation. I guess the people who orchestrated it wanted to make sure he couldn’t mess anything up for them afterwards.” 

“Well, it looks like they couldn’t stop him again,” Donghyuck says with a small smile, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the folder. It’s a little crinkled, and possibly bloodstained, but the contents are still in perfect condition. He hands it to Ten, who rifles through the documents with an increasingly surprised look on his face. Donghyuck talks him through the realization he’d had, and what they think Vanderfelt is up to.

“Holy shit,” Ten says eventually, setting yet another newspaper clipping down in front of him. “Does the rest of your team know?” 

“Not yet,” Donghyuck admits. “We, uh, got separated during the heist.” 

“Ah,” Ten says. “So you wanted to bring this to Kun before you tell them?” 

Mark and Donghyuck exchange a look. _Here goes nothing, _Donghyuck thinks, and hopes Ten doesn’t scoff at them and turn them around. 

“Actually,” Donghyuck says, clearing his throat, “we wanted to ask if you knew anything about Dupain’s experiments.” 

Ten raises an eyebrow. “Are you accusing me of something?” 

“No, no, no,” Donghyuck says quickly, thinking about the gun in Ten’s waistband. _Diffuse, diffuse, diffuse, _he thinks to himself, scrambling to explain. “I just mean—it’s a similar kind of energy, right? What you use and what Dupain was messing with? Only, you control yours, right? And she didn’t?” 

Ten’s eyebrows lower, and Mark sighs, relieved. “It’s similar, yeah,” Ten admits begrudgingly. “You seem to know a lot about Dupain.” 

“We had a unit on her in my philosophy class,” Donghyuck says, plopping down onto the couch pushed against the wall. Mark follows suit, though he’s still eyeing Ten tentatively, like he’s going to pull his gun on them or blast them with whatever power runs through his veins. 

Ten looks at Donghyuck for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. “Did you know that without Kun, the energy that gives me my abilities would build up in my system and kill me?” 

Donghyuck blinks. “They…what?” 

Ten nods grimly. “It wasn’t a problem until I was in the mafia—the more I use my abilities, the worse it gets. And I used them a _lot _during those couple of years. I found Kun by chance. Being around him sort of...nullified the build-up. At first, I was going every month or so, just to make sure I didn’t combust.” Ten’s mouth quirks at their stunned looks. “A lot of people think it’s some sort of dark energy event that actually caused the first of the mutations that give some people powers,” Ten says. “It’s nearly limitless, but it comes at a high price—it’s hard to control, and corrupts more often than it helps.

“So you combine that with the fact that Dupain was desperate,” Ten continues, and Donghyuck is starting to understand where he’s going with this whole story. Very roundabout, and a little more dramatic than Donghyuck would’ve liked, but they’re getting there. “And the technology back then wasn’t quite advanced enough, at least not for the scale and intensity that she was going for.” 

“Which was?” Mark asks, looking between Ten and Donghyuck. “Sorry, um, I don’t remember what Dupain was originally trying to do, before she went off the deep end and set everything on fire.” 

“She wanted clean, accessible energy for everybody,” Ten says, crossing his arms. “Her mom cured cancer, remember? It’s a big legacy to live up to. Everybody was expecting her to come up with something just as revolutionary.” 

“When you put it like that, I almost feel bad for her,” Mark admits. “Like, maybe the world was a little hard on her.” 

“You should absolutely feel bad for her,” Ten says. “She’d been underestimated her entire life. She got no credit for her early work—it was taken by a bunch of men who bankrupted her, and then bought it for way less than it was worth. And when she finally got back on her feet, she was pretty much hated instantly by the entire world.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Mark says quietly. 

Donghyuck swallows. They’d had a lot of discussions about it in his class—could Dupain really be blamed for the entirety of her downward spiral? How much of it was the public, was the system, was part of her that suggested mental health issues that the world was just beginning to understand? 

“She did a lot of terrible things to a lot of terrible people,” Donghyuck says. “And she’s not excused from that, but…yeah, it’s really, really complicated. And sort of sad.” 

Ten shrugs. “They were ruthless,” he says. “They were determined to see her burn, one way or another. The fact that she was meddling with forces that are known for breaking minds certainly didn’t help.” 

“So you _do _think what’s happening right now is related to what Dupain was messing with, right?” Mark asks, steering them back towards the reason that they even came in the first place: to see if Ten could help them put together the pieces. 

Ten looks down at the papers he’d taken out of the folder, and back up at them. “It seems like it. Vanderfelt certainly has the tech _and _the funds to try again,” he says. “And then there’s the black blood, the combustion, the fact that it could be shaken off if the victim is hit—that’s no plague, for sure. It’s something else.” 

“Dark energy?” Donghyuck asks. 

Ten’s brow wrinkles. “Not in the way I’m familiar with it,” he says, “but yeah, probably.” 

“Do you think—do you think if you could, like, sense it, you could find where the virus is coming from?” Mark asks hopefully. “Like, you know, track it down?” 

Ten laughs, though the sound is a little dry and bitter. “I don’t know about _that_,” he says. “But I know that Taeil and the cops will be very interested in what you’ve got here. It’s probably enough to put a case together.” 

“And if, theoretically, you _could _find Vanderfelt’s lab,” Donghyuck says, unable to help himself from getting excited, “then we could, like, shut it off—” 

“Whatever _it _is,” Ten interrupts, eyebrow raising again. Donghyuck ignores his pessimism, and ploughs on. 

“Then we can stop this from spreading, stop Vanderfelt, and stop all the zombie-demons from going past the point of no return and exploding,” he finishes. 

“That sounds pretty fucking rad, not gonna lie,” Mark comments after a second. “Like, that’s a comic-book ending right there.” 

Ten taps his chin. “There’s about one billion ways things could go wrong,” he says. Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue, but Ten holds up a hand. “I’m just being realistic. Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. My point _is, _though, that despite all the places where we could fuck up, if we can all pull this off—” 

“Then that’s it,” Donghyuck says, slightly breathless with the idea of it. “The city’s saved. The experiments are stopped. Nobody dies anymore.” 

Ten purses his lips. “I don’t want to get your hopes up. Either of your hopes. So don’t go running back to your friends and telling them you’ve found the evidence, the problem, _and _the solution.” 

Both Mark and Donghyuck deflate, and Ten gives them an amused look. “Sorry to rain on your parade,” he says. 

Ten walks them down the hallway, hitting the elevator button for them. “Be safe,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. You still got all the stuff I gave you?” 

Donghyuck pats the pocket where the brass knuckles rest. “Yep.” 

“Good,” Ten says, putting a gentle hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. He glances at Mark, who’s typing out a message for the group chat, and back at Donghyuck. “And how is the…problem we talked about the other day?” 

_You just have to realign the pieces to fit this new part, _Ten had told him.

“I’m trying,” Donghyuck says. “Sort of. It’s hard.” 

“Of course it’s hard,” Ten replies, matter-of-fact. “That’s why you should keep trying.” 

Before Donghyuck can reply, the elevator dings, and Ten waves to them as he and Mark step in. “I’ll keep in touch,” Ten promises. “And if worst comes to worst, don’t be afraid to smack a bitch.” 

Mark bursts into laughter, and even Donghyuck, tired and stressed and impatient about the future, manages to crack a smile. The doors slide close, and then they’re back on the street, shivering slightly in the autumn chill as they begin to walk back towards the train station.

“God, I hope this all gets fixed soon,” Mark sighs, rubbing his hands through his hair. “Fuck, I still need to fix my window.” 

“_Still_?” Donghyuck asks. “Haven’t you called your landlord?”

“I keep forgetting,” Mark admits. “We’ve been so busy with…everything, pretty much. It’s hard to make time for stuff that normally would be important.” 

_Like talking about what we are now, _Donghyuck thinks, sticking his hands in his pockets. _And what we’re gonna be in the future. _

The silence between them grows a touch awkward, and Mark clears his throat uncomfortably. “About the alley—” 

“Heat of the moment,” Donghyuck says, even though the excuse makes him want to vomit all over the sidewalk. “If you want it to be. For now.” 

“For now,” Mark echoes. His voice cracks, but there’s a hint of relief, too, that makes Donghyuck feel even worse. Mark had _kissed him back. _He’s one-hundred percent sure about that. 

_Give him time, _one part of him soothes. _A lot is happening right now. You can’t expect an answer. You don’t know what’s going on inside of his head. _

_HE’S A COWARD AND YOU SHOULD KISS HIM AGAIN, _another part screams, and Donghyuck hates how he can’t entirely discount the latter as a bad idea. 

Both the rational and irrational parts of him love Mark Lee—_all_ of him loves Mark Lee, and that’s the problem, because he can’t just _ignore _half of his brain. He loves Mark with the anxiety that sits constantly in the pit of his stomach, with the self-loathsome, violent parts of his mind. He loves Mark with every bit of selflessness he’s got, and every bit of selfishness, too. His anger, his sadness, the grief that prevents the hole in his heart from closing—he loves Mark with those parts, too, and it _sucks. _It sucks to love anybody with his whole self (Donghyuck has only loved one other like that, and she had abandoned him without another word years ago) but it _especially _sucks to love Mark Lee. Because it’s easy, and hard, and so, so, so worth it. 

“Donghyuck?” Mark prompts, and Donghyuck realizes they’ve reached the train station already, the lights in the starwell blinding him and bringing him out of his head. Mark’s hand is brief but warm against the back of his neck, and Donghyuck is suddenly struck by the overwhelming need to cry. Briefly, some small, lost part of him reaches out for Mya, but he shuts it down, steely and efficient, just like he was taught. 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says. God, he’s tired, down to his very bones. “Hey, do you mind if I skip on the debriefing? I’m wiped.” 

“You sure?” Mark asks, frowning. “Everyone will want to hear what you think, and Jeno can look to make sure that you’re not badly injured.” 

“I know, but I’m really tired,” Donghyuck says. There must be something in his voice that keys Mark in to the level of exhaustion he feels, because he relents and nods.

They scan their cards and get on the train. Mark puts his hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. “We’re almost there, Hyuck,” he says, his thumb tapping against Donghyuck’s collarbone. “This is almost over.” 

“Yes,” Donghyuck agrees. “Almost.”

_And then I don’t have to worry about what Renjun said, _he thinks later, lying sleepless in his bed, staring at his dark bedroom ceiling. O_r about Mya, or about how I may or may not be stuck in the middle of this, whether I like it or not. _

_That _thought is particularly upsetting, so he turns over and tries to push it from his mind. It only half-works, but the bad dreams that chase him through his sleep are ones he forgets as soon as he wakes the next morning. 

* * *

There are few things Donghyuck hates more than being stuck in grey zones—in-betweens, he supposes. Inaction is one. Being kept in the dark on purpose is another. Being condescended is a third. 

Twofold, the city’s glorious protector, manages to do all three in the span of five minutes. 

He shows up to Donghyuck’s dormitory Monday morning as he’s on his way to his god-forsaken nutrition class, where he’ll have to put up with Jaden’s stupid face even though he’s still in quite a lot of pain from Friday night. Plus, his adrenaline-fueled anxiety keeps him up until the early hours, every muscle tense, humming with energy begging to be released.

“Good morning, Donghyuck,” Taeil says, startling Donghyuck so badly he turns and swings before he can even think. Taeil, luckily, is a touch faster, and Donghyuck’s clenched fist whistles through empty air as Taeil reappears a few inches away, the air around him shimmering as he comes back into focus. 

“Jesus Christ,” Donghyuck breathes to himself, bracing his hands on his knees and exhaling. His hands are shaking a little bit, and he wonders if his ribs—actually, his whole body—are in good enough condition to handle a run tonight. He’s got so much extra energy building up that if he doesn’t do something about it soon, he’s going to explode. It’s like his body knows the end is coming—like all the sleepless nights, all the bruises and the fighting against a seemingly-unknowable foe is finally going to _mean _something. 

And that’s really what he wants, most of all. Answers. Meaning. 

“Sorry,” Taeil says. He’s wearing a baseball hat and a face mask pulled up over his nose and mouth. Donghyuck does a precursory scan of the area and spots two undercover cop cars parked just a little distance away. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Donghyuck waves him off. “I’m just a little jumpy, is all. What’s up? Do you have news?” 

Taeil sighs, and he gives Donghyuck a deeply apologetic look that sends a weight sinking through his stomach. “There’s nothing we can do, Donghyuck. The evidence got to the police—a copy of it, at least, because I suspect that Kun kept the originals—“ 

“I knew I liked him for a reason,” Donghyuck mumbles, and Taeil smiles. 

“Anyways, they’ve explicitly told me there’s nothing I can do,” he says, but his nose wrinkles in a way that tells Donghyuck Taeil doesn’t quite believe that. 

“Okay, I mean, I guess I understand,” Donghyuck says, crossing his arms. “Do you know how far along they are with the case, though? Is Ten helping?” 

Taeil hesitates a beat too long with his reply. “No,” he says. 

_What a terrible fucking lie, _Donghyuck thinks irritably. “You’re not just saying that to keep us in the dark, right?” he asks, and Taeil hesitates again, his expression pained. 

“No,” he says again. “Listen, Donghyuck, I know you’re young and relatively new to this, so you might not understand just how tied my hands are. I’m just an extension of the police.” 

“I know that,” Donghyuck says. The kind tone Taeil is using only makes his words grate worse against his bruised ego. “I’m not a baby.” 

Taeil rubs a hand over his face. “I know you’re not. God, I know you’re not. This is my fault, mostly. I should be looking out for you, but instead all I’m doing is telling you stop.” 

Guilt and pity ring bitterly in Donghyuck’s stomach, and he swallows his pride for just long enough to blurt, “I really do look up to you, you know. All of my friends do.” 

Taeil’s smile is sad. “I’m sorry I can’t be better for you guys. But I meant what I said, Donghyuck.” 

“I know,” Donghyuck says. “I know you’re lying about all that, by the way.” 

“I know you know,” Taeil laughs, nudging him. “You’re a lot smarter than everyone gives you credit for.” 

Donghyuck’s phone buzzes—a text from Mark, asking if he’s coming to this morning.

“I’ll let you go,” Taeil says. “I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re in one piece. Keep your eyes open, and I’ll see you sooner than you think.” 

Donghyuck blinks, and then he’s gone, the air wavering slightly. 

_Dude, _Mark texts. _Are you awake? _

Donghyuck stares at the spot where Taeil was for a second longer, gooseflesh prickling his skin. 

Then he turns on his heel and shakes off the strange feeling. _Coming, _he texts, and pretends like the rush of foreboding he’d felt was nothing more than his imagination. 

* * *

Despite Donghyuck’s best efforts, school is nearly impossible to focus on. Mark’s knee bounces up and down, and information goes in one ear and right out the other. Donghyuck’s notes are sparse and poorly-done. His Stats grade slips a little lower on Wednesday when he bombs yet another quiz, staring at the 4/8 displayed way too big on his computer screen with his heart in his throat. 

Renjun comes up behind him, and Donghyuck shuts his computer quickly. 

“Was that your quiz grade?” Renjun asks, because he’s nosy and cares more about school than Donghyuck ever will. 

“No,” Donghyuck says resolutely, staring out the window and refusing to make eye contact. They’re camped out in a study room in Renjun’s dorm, because midterms still march towards them despite the fact that the city is falling apart outside of these walls, bit-by-bit. 

“Your aunt and uncle won’t pay your tuition anymore if you bomb this quarter,” Renjun reminds him, and Donghyuck’s heart sinks even lower. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” Donghyuck says sourly, yanking his textbooks back towards him and opening his computer again. The bad grade taunts him, and Donghyuck has a violent moment where he wants nothing more than to punch right through his computer, and then maybe the window for good measure. 

They work in silence for a little longer. The sun goes down, and it starts to rain. Renjun hums under his breath to whatever song he’s listening to, and Donghyuck tries to ignore the restless itch of energy under his skin. 

“I hate this,” Donghyuck announces, slamming down his pencil and wheeling his chair away from the table. “I feel like I’m going to explode. Maybe I should just drop out and submit myself to the testing facilities—“ 

“_No_,” Renjun interrupts emphatically. “Donghyuck, dude, that’s not even funny.” 

Donghyuck leans his head back against the wall. “It’s a little funny. Can you imagine me at one of those places? Being trained by those military people, getting psych evals every week? For at least three years?” 

Renjun scoffs, but he’s starting to smile. “You’d be there for at least _ten. _You’re _so _fucked-up, man.” 

“Hey, hey, I’m working on it,” Donghyuck says, holding his hands up. “I’m doing some serious self-examination. Working on myself. You know.” 

“I can’t believe Mark Lee inspired you to become a better human,” Renjun says. 

Donghyuck glares at him. “It wasn’t Mark!” 

“Yes it was,” Renjun disagrees, and Donghyuck crosses his arms. “He is _way _too average to cause a miracle like that.” Renjun shakes his head. “Jesus Christ.” 

“He’s not average!” Donghyuck protests. “He’s _your _friend too, dude!” 

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him!” 

“In love with who?” 

Donghyuck looks up, startled, but it’s just Jaemin…and Jisung, for some reason. Both of them are soaking wet, and Jisung is holding a plastic bag close to his chest. 

“Jisung,” Donghyuck says, blinking at him. “Wait, what the fuck? You don’t go here.” 

Jisung holds out the bag. “Maybe not, but I’ve got sandwiches.” 

“Why aren’t you in school?” Renjun asks, flipping his phone over to check the time. “Oh, shit, Mark’s been stuck outside of the dorm for ten minutes. Will you go get him, Donghyuck?” 

“Why me,” Donghyuck groans, hauling himself out of his chair and grabbing Renjun’s student ID so he can take the elevator. “How did you guys even get in here anyway? Didn’t you see him out there?” 

Jisung and Jaemin exchange a confused look. Jaemin shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? We just walked in when someone walked out.” 

“Well, you’ve interrupted my work,” Donghyuck says, gesturing at his textbook and computer.

“You weren’t doing anything anyway,” Jaemin replies, rummaging around in the bag Jisung set down on the table. 

“I had early release, Renjun,” Jisung says, answering Renjun’s earlier question. “It was a B day today, and my advisory teacher said we could go. He doesn’t give a shit because we’re seniors.” 

“Watch your fucking language, Jesus Christ,” Renjun says irately, and Jisung throws a wrapper at him. 

“You’re such a hypocrite,” Jaemin remarks, pulling his sandwich apart. “Do you want my tomatoes?” 

Renjun snatches his food away before Jaemin can toss his tomatoes onto it. “I’m not going to eat your vegetables, dude. I’m not Jeno.” 

Jaemin opens his mouth to protest, and Donghyuck leaves before Renjun starts peeling apart _that_ particular relationship. It’s going to be so satisfying when Renjun finally falls in love with someone, just because then it’ll be _their _turn to give _him _shit. 

Mark is waiting just outside the door, water dripping off his rain jacket and onto his phone screen. The thighs of his jeans are wet, too, but he doesn’t look bothered, like he could stand out here forever, and as long as they got him at _some point, _he’d be fine. 

“You have the patience for the strangest things,” Donghyuck tells him when he opens the door. Mark looks up from his phone screen and smiles, bright under the dark wet of his hood. “Did you not see Jaemin and Jisung walk past you?”

Mark reaches inside of his hood and pulls a headphone out. “Huh?” 

“Never mind,” Donghyuck says, opening the door wider and letting him into the dorm. Mark’s wet shoes squeak on the floor as Donghyuck hits the up button on the elevator. “How are you?” he asks, turning to Mark. 

“Good,” Mark says, stuffing his headphones into his pocket and shifting under his backpack straps. “Tired, mostly.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Donghyuck agrees, and the conversation dies just like that. 

The alley kiss flashes briefly through Donghyuck’s mind. God, what do you say to a best friend that you’ve made out with…_twice_? On purpose? With the possibility of an actual, adult relationship not…totally impossible (yet)? 

The answer, Donghyuck realizes, is nothing. He and Mark just stand there in complete silence as the elevator doors open, close, and then open again on the fourth floor. Donghyuck’s hands are sweating, and Mark fidgets. 

_Say something, _Donghyuck encourages himself. _Come on. He’s your best friend. _

“Mark,” Donghyuck says, and Mark stops with his hand on the study room door. 

“Yeah?” 

_Shit, okay, now what, _Donghyuck thinks, scrambling. “I, uh, I wanted to talk about Friday. In the alley.” 

Mark crosses his arms. His expression is strangely unreadable, which throws Donghyuck off a little—but not enough, so he keeps going. 

“I said _for now,_ earlier, in the alleyway,” Donghyuck says. “But I don’t think it can be like that anymore, Mark. Whether we like it or not.” 

Mark looks down at his feet. “Vanderfelt is threatening a mass homicide, Donghyuck,” he says quietly. “Don’t you think—” 

“I think this is just as important as anything else,” Donghyuck interrupts. He takes a breath before he can get too worked up, and when he’s calmed slightly, he continues. “We—we—” 

“I know what we did,” Mark says. He still can’t meet Donghyuck’s eyes, and Donghyuck presses a fist to his chest, fighting the panic that rises quick and hot, mixing with the nauseated feeling that sits heaving in his stomach. “And I said I needed time, Hyuck.” 

“I know,” Donghyuck says, clearing his throat. “I know, but—” 

“But I still need time,” Mark finishes, and his voice cracks a little. “I’m sorry.” 

The panic rises further, choking him. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry for bringing it up.” 

Silence falls around them, stifling and hot. Donghyuck doesn’t know if he wants to yell and punch a wall, or fall over and cry. _God, _he loves Mark Lee, but _holy shit, _he’s frustrating Donghyuck to no end. It’s unfair for Donghyuck to push him for an answer, he knows, but he wants to—every part of him is _screaming _for a way out of the in-between. _Break my heart or make my day, but for fuck’s sake, do _something! he wants to shout. 

Instead, he chokes on his tongue a little and has to excuse himself, pressing Renjun’s ID into Mark’s hand before taking off down the hallway as fast as he can—pretty damn fast, it turns out, because he nearly takes himself out rounding a corner too quickly. 

“Donghyuck,” Mark calls, but Donghyuck ignores him, taking the stairs two at a time. The itchiness is back in full force, and combined with his frustration and the bitter taste of his own selfishness, it’s nearly unbearable. It’s probably _not _a good idea for him to be alone right now—one part of him craves a cigarette, another the sweet numbness of being drunk, and a third wants nothing more than violence, bloody, swift and absolute. 

It’s still raining. He hates autumn here for this exact reason—the cold rolls in slowly, brought by the heavy clouds that sit over them for days on end. Gray, all of it, from the sky to the buildings to the wet splash of car tires on asphalt. 

His phone buzzes with a text—it’s his aunt, which only makes his mood worse. She’s asking if he can come over and get the rest of his stuff out of his room, because they’re moving out of the city by the end of the month. 

_We’re doing a big clean-out, _she’s written, _and I’ll put anything that’s yours on your bed. Please come by soon. _

He’s starting to get wet, so he hops on the first bus that pulls up to the curb, scanning his pass and heading to the back, where he props his feet up on the seat in front of him and ignores the texts that flood in from his friends. Jaemin tries to call him about five times, only giving up when Donghyuck texts him_ I’m fine I just need to clear my head. _

_Okay, _Jaemin texts back. _Is it abt mark???? _

Donghyuck doesn’t bother replying, because Jaemin already knows the answer. Yes, of course it’s about Mark, because it always is—but it’s also about everything else, too, because it’s all snowballed into one big mess that is quickly growing too heavy for him to carry on his own. 

Renjun texts again. _Do you wanna talk?? _

It’s times like these that Donghyuck desperately wishes he had parents, or an older sibling. Even Mya, with her tough love, would push him hard to clear his head. 

He’s about to close out of his texts when a name catches his eye—it’s desperate at best and a terrible idea at worst, but he’s tired and confused and needs help untangling himself. 

So he sends a message. 

* * *

“I should be charging you for these therapy sessions,” Ten says ten minutes later. “But you look so sad and pathetic, so I can’t.” 

“I’m not sad and pathetic,” Donghyuck mumbles, inching past Ten into his apartment. “I just need advice.” 

“And you decided to come to _me?_” Ten asks, eyebrows shooting up. “Don’t you have parents? A grandma? Somebody _else?_” 

“All of the adults in my life have either died, abandoned me, or simply don’t care,” Donghyuck informs him. He plops down despondently in a chair. “Believe me, an ex-mafia resurrectionist is not my first choice, either.” 

Ten looks at Donghyuck for a long moment before he sighs. “Okay,” Ten says. “Do you want tea?” 

Donghyuck blinks. He’d expected more pity, or maybe indifference—but there’s something warm in the way Ten looks at him. It makes Donghyuck feel very young in a good way—young and understood, despite everything. 

“Yes please,” he says quietly, and Ten nods, taking the electric kettle and sticking it under the tap. 

“Good choice,” Ten informs him. “That was really depressing, by the way. You really don’t have _any _sort of parental figure _at all?_” 

Donghyuck shakes his head. “My mom and dad died when I was a baby, and the woman who raised me left me with my aunt and uncle when I was fourteen.” 

“But?” 

“But they don’t like me very much,” Donghyuck admits. “I was more of an inconvenience than anything. Neither of them ever wanted kids, and they made sure I knew that.” 

“Whose side were they from?” Ten asks as the water starts to heat. 

Donghyuck frowns. “Um, I don’t know,” he says. “I’m sure I’ve asked them—or Mya, maybe—but I can’t remember.” 

“Huh,” Ten says. “Well, if you knew, you could trace the family line and maybe find somebody else. Somebody that could care.” 

The idea of that—of having a family that loves and cares for him, with no secrets—is ludicrous. Mostly because Donghyuck can’t believe that would ever happen to someone like him. 

“Is Kun back?” Donghyuck asks, changing the subject and sidestepping the heartache that comes with it. 

Ten nods, pouring the water over a tea bag and joining Donghyuck at the table. “He’s out at the store right now, but he’ll be back in a bit. He’s really thankful for what you guys did—also, he’s guilty as hell, because he heard you got hurt.” 

Donghyuck shrugs, thinking of all the bruises and scrapes he’d gotten over the months _just _from being a vigilante. “I’ve been getting hurt a lot for a long time,” he says, and it comes out with more meaning than he intends. Ten tilts his head and gives Donghyuck a look. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” he says. 

For the next twenty minutes, Donghyuck sits and talks while Ten listens, his hands folded around his cup of tea, expression thoughtful. He gets choked-up when he talks about the conversation they had in the hallway of Renjun’s dorm, looking down at the table and willing himself not to cry as he gets the last part out. 

“And he keeps asking for more time,” Donghyuck finishes, “and I want to give it to him, because that’s the right thing to do, but at the same time, I just—I _can’t _be stuck in the in-between anymore.” 

His throat hurts a little, so he takes a sip of his tea while Ten digests all of this. 

“Do you want my advice?” Ten asks. “Or did you just want someone to listen?” 

“Both,” Donghyuck says. 

Ten purses his lips. “You know that you’re allowed to tell him you’re done waiting, right?”

“What? That I’m _done_?” 

“There are two sides to a story, always,” Ten says, nodding, “and it’s important to be considerate of Mark, and all of that. But, like, you can tell him that you’re tired and drained, and you’re not gonna stick around forever and wait for him to make up his mind. If he needs to talk to another boy, if he needs more time—you can only accept so many excuses, Donghyuck.” 

“But—but he’s my best friend,” Donghyuck says, shocked. “I can’t just say _fuck you _and leave. I don’t _want _to say _fuck you _and leave.” 

“Then don’t,” Ten says, shrugging. “I don’t know how your relationship works. But if being in the limbo is killing you, then you need to get out of it. And it’s not just up to Mark to decide when that is.” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue, but Ten holds up a hand. “Just think about it, okay? With all the shit going down—and that will go down in the future—you’re gonna need all the energy you can get.” 

The mention of the future gets Donghyuck’s attention. “What does that mean?” 

Ten checks the time. “Kun is going to be back soon. Do you want to stay and say hi to him?” he asks, totally ignoring Donghyuck’s question. 

“What do you mean, _in the future?” _

“You’re smarter than you look,” Ten says wryly. “And I guess, since we’re, like, sort-of friends now, I can tell you this.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Keep your phone charged on Tuesday,” Ten says ominously. “If we’re lucky, though, you’ll forget I even told you that.” 

After a quick chat with Kun—it goes about the same way the conversation with Taeil did—Ten sends him along with half a cheesecake and a surprisingly good hug. 

“Keep your chin up,” Ten tells him. “My advice from the weekend still stands, Donghyuck. You _cannot _be afraid to smack a bitch, even if it might be your best friend.” 

* * *

Donghyuck fills Jeno in on this conversation with Ten as they parse through racks of clothing at the thrift store one week later, looking for last-minute Halloween costumes. He’d kept his mouth shut about his visit to Ten—when his friends had asked, he’d given them a vague half-lie about his aunt and uncle moving. But there’s something about Jeno’s face that gets him every time—there’s no conniving, no secret, evil machinations of the mind. He is not the calculated viciousness that is Renjun during an emotional conversation; nor is he the general fettered chaos that makes up the entirety of Jaemin. 

Normally, Donghyuck would talk to Mark, except…well…this whole thing is _about _Mark, so that’s a no-go. 

Jeno listens, interjecting every now and then with a stupid yet well-phrased question. Donghyuck takes a plaid shirt off the rack and holds it up to his chest. “Who does this remind you of?” he asks. 

Jeno squints at the shirt for a second. “Uh, I don’t know. My grandpa?” 

“No, like, could I wear this as part of a costume?” Donghyuck asks. 

“If you were going as my _grandpa,_” Jeno says. “Should I just buy one of those crappy Jason masks and go as him? I have a cargo jacket.” 

“I’m running out of ideas, honestly, so yeah, go for it,” Donghyuck says, and sticks the shirt back on the rack. “So, um, what do you think?” 

“About_ Friday the 13th?”_ Jeno asks. “Oh, wait, you mean the whole Mark thing.” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, moving down to a rack of vests. Most of them are denim and bedazzled, something Donghyuck isn’t sure he can pull off. 

“You guys need to be all or nothing,” Jeno says. “Because you’re an all-or-nothing kind of dude, and Mark is not strong enough to be halfway-attached to you.” 

“So you’re saying I call it?” 

Jeno shakes his head. “No. I mean, it’s too late for you guys to go back to the old days. You kissed him on _purpose. _That’s real shit.” 

“I know it’s fucking real shit, and that’s why I’m having a mental breakdown,” Donghyuck snaps, temper flaring. 

Jeno waits.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck mutters a second later. “I’m not mad at you. I didn’t mean to get angry. It’s just—I want to be with him _so badly. _You know this. Everybody fucking knows this. But, like—how?” 

“How indeed,” Jeno muses. “Hey, check out that red vest to your left. If it fits, you could totally be Marty McFly.” 

“From _Back to the Future,_” Donghyuck says, pulling the vest off the rack. “I love that movie.”

“Anyways,” Jeno continues as they make their way back towards campus, “you gotta be straight-up with him. Talk about _yourself, _for once. Don’t make it about Jaden or extenuating circumstances or the end of the world. This is about you and him, yeah? Not anything else. If he likes you back, then great. If not, then—well, you figure out what to do then. But it can’t be this, because you’re wearing yourself out.” Jeno pauses. “Well, both of you are. But mostly you.” 

Donghyuck stares at him. “You’re awesome, did you know that? That might’ve been the most helpful thing anyone’s told me since the start of this whole thing. Ten told me to smack a bitch.” 

“Don’t smack him,” Jeno advises. “And hey, I’m just regurgitating what my therapist has told me, so you can thank her.” 

“If I had parents, this wouldn’t suck as much,” Donghyuck sighs. 

“No, it wouldn’t,” Jeno agrees, punching Donghyuck on the shoulder. “But you’ve got us, you know? Always. And if you actually listened to me, you could have a therapist, too—” 

“Jeno—” 

“You promised,” Jeno reminds him solemnly. “Back at the party.” 

“I don’t remember that so it doesn’t count,” Donghyuck counters, and before Jeno can argue, he adds, “pregame at yours?” 

“Yeah, I’m down,” Jeno says, letting Donghyuck change the subject. 

“Cool,” Donghyuck says, and they leave it at that until they part ways, when Jeno pulls Donghyuck into a quick hug. 

“It’ll be okay,” Jeno says. “Just keep your chin up. We’re almost there.” 

“We’re almost there,” Donghyuck echoes, and for the first time, he believes it. 

* * *

Halloween comes, filling the air with electricity, a contagious mood that makes even_ Renjun_ excited. Night falls early these days, and the streetlights turn on, yellow-orange pushing back the darkness. Music comes from every other house, and not even the zombie-demons that try to jump him on his way back from the liquor store can bring him down. 

“This is going to be so fucking _sick_,” Jaemin says, gesticulating and nearly hitting Renjun in the face. “I love Halloween. Have I already said that?” 

“About five hundred thousand times,” Renjun replies, carefully measuring out coconut rum into a shot glass for Jaemin. He’s not drinking because of his medication—much to his immense displeasure, as he’s reminded them all many times since they’d arrived at Mark and Jeno’s. 

“Donghyuck, who are you supposed to be again?” Jaemin asks. 

“Marty McFly from _Back to the Future,_” Donghyuck says, holding out his arms. 

“Nobody knows who that is,” Jaemin says, accepting a shot glass from Renjun. “You should’ve been Batman. Now I’m just the Joker all by myself.” 

“Is Jeno not being Batman?” 

“No, Jeno’s being that serial killer dude,” Jaemin says, pouting a bit. He tips the shot into his mouth and grimaces. “I don’t know who he is either.” 

“I think that’s a personal problem,” Jeno interrupts, coming out of his bedroom with his mask on his head. “You don’t watch enough movies.” 

“Yeah I do,” Jaemin argues, pointing at Renjun. “_He’s _from a movie. That one about the gay singer man.” 

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Jaemin, Freddie Mercury was a _real person. _He was in Queen.” 

“They did _Fat Bottom Girls,_” Jaemin says, triumphant. “I know _that._” 

“You are a tragedy,” Donghyuck observes. “God, we need Chenle here. He puts up with your shit.” 

“Chenle’s dumb too,” Renjun complains. “If Chenle’s coming, we need Jisung.” 

“Yeah, but they’re having a nice time at their party,” Jeno says, and lifts his phone. “Jesus, it’s already nine-thirty and I’m not even drunk.” He grabs a shot glass, pours some of Renjun’s terrible coconut rum, and downs it in one go. 

“Where’s Mark?” Donghyuck asks. “It can’t possibly take that long to put on a—” 

Mark’s bedroom door opens at that exact moment, and the rest of Donghyuck’s sentence dies on Donghyuck’s tongue. There are complaints from their friends—Jaemin, mostly—because Mark is wearing his old high school baseball uniform, hat on backwards. He calls it Miscellaneous Baseball Player, and Donghyuck would complain about his lack of effort too, except Mark looks—

Mark looks hot. Yeah, there’s no getting around that one. 

“You are so _lame_,” Jaemin huffs. “You were Mr. All-Star last year.” 

“It’s the only thing I had,” Mark says, shrugging. “Sorry.” 

“You could’ve been—” 

Jeno slams down his third shot. “Jaemin, dude, nobody wanted to be Batman. Give it a rest.” 

Jaemin slumps in his chair, but he listens, miraculously, to Jeno. 

They spend a couple more minutes finishing off their drinks and cramming the rest of the unopened beers into various pockets and then they’re on their way. Houses blur together over the span of the next hour and a half—Donghyuck thinks there’s three, but he can’t be sure. Not that he _cares, _either, because he has an absolute fucking _blast, _dancing to _Monster Mash _and Kanye, shotgunning warm beer in someone’s backyard, racing Mark down the sidewalk, forgetting he’s three times stronger than the average person and accidentally taking a door off its hinges. 

Currently, though, they’re in a packed, dark house, the party in full swing. Donghyuck is looking for Renjun—and then stops, because Renjun’s making out with some boy who, in Donghyuck’s pleasantly drunk state, looks about seventeen feet tall. 

He finds Mark dancing with Jaden and a couple of other friends, and Halloween is truly a miraculous holiday because Donghyuck doesn’t even feel like committing crime when he sees Jaden. Because he looks at Mark and he thinks about kissing him in the alleyway, about how real that was. Because Mark had said _more time _but his whole body had said _kiss me again, _and if they weren’t best friends, Donghyuck would’ve. 

He sidles up to Mark. “Hi, Jaden!” he shouts, because he’s feeling diplomatic. Or drunk. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s _not _jealous _or _homicidal, and he’s taking that as a win. 

“Hi!” Jaden shouts back, and gives Donghyuck his classic, stupidly charismatic smile. “Mark and I were just talking about you!” 

Mark looks down at his feet when Donghyuck shoots him a curious look. “You were?” 

Jaden cups a hand over his ear. “What?” 

“I said—” 

“Come dance with me!” Mark interrupts abruptly, wrapping an arm around Donghyuck’s waist. “I’ll see you later, Jaden!” 

Jaden gives him a thumbs-up, and then the crowd closes around them just as the tell-tale synth of _Take on Me _starts up. The people around them cheer, and Donghyuck sings with them as loudly as he can, feeling like he’s full to the bursting. Mark dances next to him, and they knock into each other, shoulders, elbows, nearly off-balance. Then there’s Mark’s hand on his hip, steadying them, before they can fall. 

“Whoa,” Mark says, smiling so wide Donghyuck can see his teeth. 

Donghyuck pulls him a little closer as the song changes. He’s warm, almost burning to the touch, and everything in Donghyuck’s body screams _KISS HIM! _

_I could, _Donghyuck thinks dizzily. _I could. I really could. It would be okay, probably. _

He leans forward. Mark’s breath stutters, the hand he has on Donghyuck’s waist buzzing through his shirt, through his skin—

“Your phone is ringing,” Mark says into Donghyuck’s ear, and he pulls back to let Donghyuck search through his pockets. 

“It’s—it’s Ten,” Donghyuck says, blinking at the screen. Then he’s shouldering his way through people, still dancing, still singing—but Donghyuck’s stomach is sinking and his head is clearing, his hands sweat-slick as he picks up the call. Mark is half a step behind him, his hand tight around Donghyuck’s. 

“Donghyuck?” Ten says. “Are you there?” 

“I’m here,” Donghyuck says. 

“It’s time.”

* * *

Everyone sobers up quickly. Adrenaline burns most of it away; water does the rest of the job. Renjun hands Jaemin a Red Bull in exchange for his car keys, and they pile into Jaemin’s minivan, parked in front of Mark and Jeno’s apartment. 

Donghyuck explains as best he can as they get ready, strapping armor on—given to them by Kun for the heist—and pulling on masks. They must look ridiculous—mostly in Halloween costumes, slightly intoxicated, and far too young. 

They’re mostly quiet for the rest of the ride, punctuated by an occasional question. The party, and standing in Mark’s arms, already feels like it happened years ago to somebody else. There’s still a hum in the air, but it’s anticipation, readiness, like all of them know they’re about to head into some sort of ending. 

_Hopefully it’s the end of all this _Donghyuck thinks, checking his weapons one last time as Renjun pulls up to the curb, siren lights flashing in the distance. They’re out of the city—all that’s left around here are the remnants of old steel mills, the concrete cracked and dirty, smokestacks poking into the dark sky. The street lights barely work, and it’s in this darkness that they do one final assessment. 

“I let Jisung and Chenle know what’s happening,” Renjun says. “I’m going to go meet them halfway.” 

“Good idea,” Donghyuck agrees, nodding. “Chenle’s shadow-jump could be super handy.” 

Renjun purses his lips. “I don’t—I’m hesitant to leave you guys, though.” 

“We’ll be okay,” Donghyuck assures him, sounding a lot more confident than we feel. “Mark and I are professionals, remember? And Jaemin knows how to shoot a gun. Somehow.” 

“I’ll probably stay back and help the doctors,” Jeno says. “I watched a Youtube video on how to do stitches.” 

“You’re going to be a great EMT one day,” Renjun says, and he mostly means it. 

“Go,” Mark urges gently. “We’ll be here when you get back.” 

“You better be,” Renjun threatens, and they watch the minivan drive back into the night. 

Donghyuck exhales, trying to shake off some of his nervousness. “Alright, guys.” He pats his safety knife, the sword on his back, the brass knuckles in his pocket. Everyone’s got various pieces of armor, and a mask of some sort—hard to breathe through, but it’s either that or get logged into the police database as public menaces. Jaemin has a gun (Donghyuck’s not sure how he feels about _that_) and Mark has his baseball bat, which makes a hollow, metallic noise when he taps it on the sidewalk. 

“Ready?” Mark asks, putting his hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. They turn towards the lights in the distance, and Donghyuck feels some of his anxiety harden to resolve. 

“Ready,” Donghyuck says, pulling his mask up. “Let’s end this.” 

* * *

They arrive just as the first wave of police, dressed in full tactical gear, rush into the building. It’s a big concrete warehouse, and from the outside, looks entirely abandoned. Most of the windows are broken, and graffiti covers almost every surface. For a second, Donghyuck thinks that maybe they have the wrong building—but then a horde of zombie-demons come rushing from the front entrance, faster than Donghyuck has seen them move in the past. 

“Go, go, go!” someone shouts, and the horde breaks against the plastic shields the police in front hold. There’s a bang, a flash, and the gunfire begins. 

“Holy _shit_,” Jeno says, skirting behind Mark. “Jesus _Christ._” 

“Hey, you lot!” a woman in heavy gear shouts, marching towards them. “This is a no-civilian zone! How did you even get past the barricade?” 

“We’re here to help!” Donghyuck says, skittering backwards as she bears down on them. “We’re friends of Twofold! Taeil Moon! You can ask him!” 

“Do you _know_,” the woman says, pinching the bridge of her nose, “how many people have tried that excuse on me? I’m giving you ten seconds to leave before I have you escorted out of here.”

Donghyuck spins on his heel and pulls his friends into a huddle. 

“What do we do,” Jaemin hisses. 

“Name-drop your mom,” Mark whispers. 

“I can’t name-drop my mom,” Jaemin says. “Hyuck, call Twofold.” 

Donghyuck sighs and turns back around. “Can you call Twofold?” 

“You think I can just _call _Twofold?” the woman asks. “Listen, kid, I don’t know who you think you are—” 

“I’m calling Twofold,” Mark says, holding up his phone. He has Taeil’s contact saved with a couple emojis, and the woman’s eyebrows raise so high they start to vanish. 

Surprisingly, the line gets picked up. “Hi, Taeil,” Mark says, very casually. “We’re here to help, but the cop lady won’t—” 

There’s a small crackle in the air as Taeil, dressed as Twofold, steps out from nonexistence. 

“Twofold?” the woman asks, staring at him like she can’t believe her eyes. “You actually _know _these kids?” 

Taeil takes one look at them and sighs. “Are you guys seriously in your—” 

“No, these are our superhero costumes,” Jaemin interrupts, even though he’s still dressed as the Joker. “Right, H—I mean, uh—friend?” 

Jeno smacks his palm against his forehead, and Mark hastily disguises a laugh as a cough. 

The woman raises an eyebrow. “You _really_ want me to let them in?” 

Donghyuck holds his breath. Taeil had taken crime-fighting _away _from them, once—but he’d also trusted them in carrying the first part of his mission through. 

“Let us help, please,” Donghyuck says quietly. “We’ve earned that much, don’t you think?” 

Taeil pauses for a long moment, his face unreadable. In the background, gunfire and shouts continue to ring out, reminding them of the crisis at hand. 

“They’re with me,” Taeil says at last. “I trust them. They’ll be helpful.” He nods. “Be safe,” he says. “They’re vicious.” Then there’s another snap, and he’s gone again. 

The woman stares at them for another second before she’s snapping into action, demanding to know their powers and skills. 

“I can shoot,” Jaemin offers. “But that’s about it.” 

“Good enough,” the woman says. “Stay back with the doctors. They go down, and we lose.” She snaps her fingers at Donghyuck. “I’m guessing you’re useless unless you’re with him?” she asks, pointing at Mark. 

“No I’m not,” Donghyuck protests, but he’s whacked by both Jaemin and Jeno. “Okay, yes, maybe a little.” His face heats, and he avoids Mark’s eyes. 

“Fine,” the woman says. “I want you picking off strays that any of our people miss. Okay?” 

“We can do that,” Mark agrees, hefting his bat. 

“Good,” the woman says. “I’m Sergeant Rome, by the way. If you cost me my job, I’ll come after each and every one of you.” 

Donghyuck salutes her before he can even think. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She appraises him, lips pursed. “What’s your name?” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth, but she raises a hand. “No, I mean, what do the papers call you?” 

“I don’t think we’ve been in the papers,” Mark says doubtfully. 

“Well, if this goes well, you will be,” Rome says. “So think of one quick so I can give it to my commanding officer.” 

“I’m—uh,” Mark says, looking around wildly like the burning, concrete landscape is going to shout an idea his way. “Um—” 

“All-star,” Jaemin blurts, and Mark freezes. “Because…he is. The all-star, I mean.” 

Rome nods. “I like it.” She turns to Donghyuck. “And you? Who are you?” 

“I’m—I don’t know,” he says helplessly, because he really _doesn’t_. “I just punch people. I’m the—the muscle. The beatdown.” 

“Beatdown?” Mark asks, looking over at Donghyuck. “That’s a good one.” 

Rome crosses her arms and nods again. “I’m with All-star. It has a good sound to it.” 

“It—it does?” Donghyuck asks, trying it out in his head_. Beatdown. Beatdown and All-star. All-star and Beatdown. _

“All-star and Beatdown,” Rome says. “Good luck with your debut.” 

* * *

The newspapers will write about this night for a while to come, even after this whole thing is over and Mark and Donghyuck recount it over sandwiches in their usual Tuesday spot. They talk about the monsters—the giant, ferociously strong mega-infected that had crushed Donghyuck at the prison almost a month ago. They talk about the blood, the casualties, the heroes. They talk about the Macroshot equipment, tons of it—sleek, humming silver machines, computers, strange laboratory equipment that nobody can figure out what it’s for. _Vanderfelt, _the papers say. _It was all Vanderfelt all along, his billion-dollar net worth cloaking the fact that he hungered for more power, power over us all, and a brilliant, cruel mind ready to do anything to get it. _

All-star and Beatdown make their media debut as officially-titled heroes, mentioned in the shadow of Twofold’s name. In the public version of the story, they stay at the back, helping with the sweep of the building while the ones ahead of them clear it out. 

In actuality, Mark and Donghyuck break away from the crowds as soon as they can and plunge into the belly of the warehouse. Donghyuck gets tackled by a rogue zombie-demon on their way, but other than that, they’re alone. 

“He’s in here somewhere,” Donghyuck says, frantically pushing aside plastic sheets and tables covered in papers and junk. “I know it.” 

“I agree,” Mark says, next to him. “I can—I can feel it.” 

Donghyuck glances over. “Danger sense?” 

“Sort of,” Mark says, pressing a hand to his forehead. “But it’s not an immediate danger. It’s like—it’s like when you’re really deep underwater, and you’ve got that pressure on your head and ears. You know?” 

“And that’s new?” 

Mark nods. “I don’t know what we’re going to find in there, Hyuck, but I don’t think it’s good.” 

They stride down a hallway lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The cops haven’t made it this far yet, concerned mostly with the horde of zombie-demons in the main wing. This far in, Donghyuck can barely hear the fight. He hopes Jeno and Jaemin are still holding up okay. Before he’d lost service, Renjun had just texted about his return with Jisung and Chenle. 

A loud _bang _startles Donghyuck back to the present, and he and Mark turn at once to face the source: a heavy metal door on their right, just up ahead. 

“Wait,” Mark says, grabbing Donghyuck’s wrist. “I just—I want to say something.” 

“Right _now_?” Donghyuck asks. 

Mark nods, swallowing nervously. “I feel like—I feel like I should’ve said this sooner, but, um. When we get out of this, would you—do you want to go out with me?” 

“_What_,” Donghyuck says, feeling like the air has been sucked out of the room. He blinks at Mark for a long second, his brain stuttering as it tries to process. So much is _happening_—they’re standing at the end and Mark is..._asking him out? _“Are you messing with me?” 

“No,” Mark says, looking down at his shoes. “I’m not. I’d really—I know I’ve been an indecisive asshole, and I get it if you’re not—” 

“I am,” Donghyuck breathes. “I mean—we’ll have to talk about it, but. Um. Yes, I’d like that very much.” 

“Okay, good,” Mark says, looking so relieved he sways on his feet. “That—yeah.” 

They stand there in the hallway for a moment longer before Donghyuck remembers that Vanderfelt is waiting on the other side of that door, preparing to flip a switch and end the lives of thousands. 

“We should go,” Donghyuck says, and Mark nods. He gives Donghyuck a meaningful look, and the two of them break into a jog. Donghyuck’s heart pounds in his chest, and his stomach has twisted into a thousand knots, anxiety and anticipation making his breath come short. Now, the promise of _after _is so tangible it makes him ache, and he wants this thing to be over and done with. The questions the file had brought up will be answered, and he’ll make sense of this whole thing and go on a date—finally, finally—with Mark Lee. 

_This is it, _he thinks. His blood thrums in his veins, and Mark reaches for the door handle. 

_This is it. _

The door handle turns—

Donghyuck takes a breath—

_This is it—_

The door swings open. 

There is a figure in protective lab gear, bent over a strange, oddly quiet machine. They look up when Donghyuck and Mark slam into the room, ready to face a horde of zombie-demons or a swarm of private security like they did at Vanderfelt’s mansion. Donghyuck had even compartmentalized the pain from the surprise attack earlier and pushed aside his exhaustion in preparation for the last great fight. 

Instead, it’s just the singular person. 

“Vanderfelt!” Donghyuck shouts. “Stop _right the fuck there!_” 

“Step away from the machine!” Mark adds, pointing his baseball bat at him, and Vanderfelt slowly raises his hands. “You’re not gonna get away with this!” 

“Once again,” Vanderfelt says, voice muffled and strange through the opaque visor of his mask, “I am underestimated.” 

“Oh, I’d say we were pretty spot on,” Donghyuck hisses, stepping closer, ignoring the cold feeling that creeps down his spine. He can’t see what the machine behind Vanderfelt is supposed to _do—_it looks like a cross between a giant touch-screen tablet and a satellite. “Funneling your company’s money into a personal project to try to _poison the entire city?_” 

“Not poison,” Vanderfelt scoffs, sounding far too casual for someone who’s just been caught, “_save. _But I don’t have the time to explain it to the likes of _you._” 

Donghyuck stops in his tracks. Something about those words feel _odd, _and a little familiar, but not in a good way—

“Why the hell are you doing this, Vanderfelt?” he demands. 

Vanderfelt laughs, and reaches for his mask. “And once again, a man—unwittingly, but still—takes credit from my work.” 

Mark makes a noise and Donghyuck turns to see him clutching his head, his nose starting to bleed—must be the danger sense. All the color has drained from his face and his eyes are wide and terrified. “Donghyuck,” Mark says, “this isn’t—we gotta go—” 

But Donghyuck is rooted to the spot, sick to his stomach, and all he can do is watch as Vanderfelt pulls his mask off. 

It’s not his face. 

In fact, it’s a woman—horribly burned, one eye milky white and scarred over—but still recognizable from tabloids, from articles, from all the study Donghyuck did on her a month ago, sitting in class and reading about how she _believed _in her science, in herself, in her mission. 

Heather Dupain had died in the fire she’d set to her lab nearly twenty years ago. Donghyuck _knows _this. 

And still, she stands before him, unmasked, disfigured, her smile as cruel and cold as ice. 

“I have been waiting for you, Donghyuck Lee,” she says, and Donghyuck’s name on her lips sends a freezing spear through his belly. 

His mind is still trying to catch up when his muscles defrost. _Hit first, ask questions later, _Mya said once, only half-joking. He gathers every inch of speed and strength he’s got in him and lunges at Dupain, empty and burning for answers. 

Her face should cave in. Her nose should snap beneath his knuckles and get his hands bloody. Her cheekbone should shatter, her eye socket should crack, her teeth should chip. Donghyuck should punch the fucking _lights _out of her and this should all be over. 

Instead, Dupain reaches up, and the next thing Donghyuck knows, he’s skidding backwards and crashing through a metal table. His vision wavers and fades—something warm trickles down the back of his head, and his ribs smart as he shakily pushes himself back to his feet. Mark is already on the attack, barely dodging Dupain as she tries to grab him. 

Donghyuck stumbles, his ears ringing, as Dupain punches _into _Mark’s rib cage, shattering the chest armor he’s wearing and sending him flying backwards, where he doesn’t move for a couple seconds. Nausea rises in Donghyuck’s throat at the blood pooling beneath Mark, and he gives himself a half-second’s rest before he charges at Dupain again. _Not Mark, not Mark, not Mark, _he thinks woozily, swinging his foot towards Dupain’s head. 

She catches him by the ankle and shoves him, sending him crashing to the ground again. Something in Donghyuck’s knee crunches painfully, white-hot, and he bites back a sob. 

“You’ve grown up to be so violent,” Dupain says delightedly, almost _fondly, _and swoops forward to knee him in the face before he can get up again. Donghyuck is forced down to his hands and knees, watching blood drip onto the ground as he tries not to vomit. 

“I’m going to kill you,” he grits out. “I swear, I don’t know how you’re back, but I’m going to find out and I’m going to _kill you._” 

Dupain smiles again, and another shiver runs down Donghyuck’s spine. “They would’ve loved to hear you say that.” 

Donghyuck has a quarter of a second to wonder what _that _could mean before Dupain turns on her heel and contemplates her machine. “It’s not done yet,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, while Donghyuck tries to get up one last time_. _If he can catch her off-guard—

His hand goes to his safety knife. “It’ll have to do,” Dupain says, and turns back to him casually. “Hopefully we won’t meet again,” she adds, like she’s commenting on the weather. 

Then she slams her hand on the surface of the machine and kicks Donghyuck in the chest, so hard he blacks out before he even hits the floor. 

When he comes to, a couple seconds later, Dupain is gone, Mark is still dead, and the machine is humming strangely. Donghyuck’s whole body hurts, and it feels like he’s underwater. Everything looks yellow and staticky, and he’s too tired to fight off the blackness that rolls over him, steady as the tide— 

And then it abates, and his friends are there, their hands bloody and their clothes grimy like they’d fought their way here. Jaemin has an arm around him, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“He’s too heavy to carry,” Jaemin says, and Chenle’s head blocks the light as he bends over, his face pale and terrified. “Can you get him and—” 

Donghyuck blinks again, long and slow, and Jaemin’s voice turns to fuzz. There’s the sensation of him being lifted, but his busted knee refuses to hold his weight. 

“We have to get out of here,” Jeno says urgently, pointing. “The police are clearing the area—we don’t know what that thing is gonna do—” 

The thing Jeno is pointing at is Dupain’s machine, which has started to whine and glow. Donghyuck’s vision fractures into tiny golden stars. He’s choking on his blood, on his failure, on the look on Dupain’s face. 

Dupain. 

_Dupain. It’s Dupain, and somehow—she knows me— _

“Heather Dupain is alive,” he whispers to Chenle, one hand grasping weakly at the front of his shirt. “It’s not—it’s not Vanderfelt.” 

Chenle’s eyes get wider. “What?” 

“Where’s Mark?” 

“Jisung and Jeno are getting him,” Chenle says, and there’s another pair of arms under him—he’s getting blood all over Jisung’s shirt. Oh. Jisung is here?

“Is this a dream?” Donghyuck asks. He can’t see anymore, doesn’t want to—doesn’t want to face the questions, Dupain’s face, the destruction and the knowledge that they’d _failed, they’d _**_failed_**_—_

The machine starts to tremble, and Donghyuck feels it deep in his bones. If the fight before had been bad, and Dupain had been worse—this is about to be _catastrophic. _

“Go,” Jeno says.

“Something is happening,” Chenle says, voice quivering. “Something—it’s the machine, it’s pulling at me, it’s like—it’s like—” 

There’s a wrenching feeling deep in Donghyuck’s gut, so painful he feels it in his scalp, so painful his body shuts down to stop him from seizing. He grabs onto Chenle, who steps into cool darkness.

_We failed, _Donghyuck thinks faintly. 

The earth rolls, and the ground cracks open to swallow him whole. 

* * *

“Jesus Christ,” Officer Johnny Seo says, wiping a grimy hand across his equally-grimy forehead, watching the shaky camera footage playing on the TV. “Fucking _shit. _They couldn’t do it.” 

“That Vanderfelt bastard,” someone says quietly. 

On screen, an infected chomps down on the arm of a screaming man. The camera cuts away. 

“The government has declared a city-wide emergency,” a harried-looking reporter is saying. “Everyone is to remain inside their homes—the national guard will be arriving soon to help mitigate—” 

“Turn that fucking shit off,” Captain Na snaps, and she looks even worse than Johnny. Her usually-flawless ponytail is a disaster, and a long cut runs down the side of her face. They’d been up all night trying to help, but all of the previously-cured were infected again, and it was spreading fast. Something had triggered it, Johnny was sure, and this time, it was _planned. _Because all the infected were acting the same, their movements robotic and jerky, like puppets on a string. This was not mindless violence or fury-driven hunger—this was _purposeful. _This was systematic and precise. 

“What do we do, Captain?” Johnny asks. 

“What _can _we do, Seo?” Captain Na replies, her expression empty, hopeless. “What can we do except watch it all burn down?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i realize i said....we're in the endgame....and we are..........it's just.....i didn't say _this_ chapter was the endgame.....i'm sorry..............
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)  
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